Wading Into the Unknown
by Chelsie Dagger
Summary: After the 2013 Christmas Special. It all started with a day at the beach. Extremely extended ending! This has it all; intrigue, romance, angst, irony, betrayal, humor, more romance, London, seduction, healing, Mrs. Patmore and Chelsie! Very much In-Progress! Key characters; Carson, Hughes, Thomas, Mary, Beryl, Mrs. Butte, Anna and Bates.
1. Chapter 1

**Wading Into the Unknown **

**[aka Deleted Scene at the end of the 2013 Christmas Special]**

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"We're getting on, Mr. Carson, you and I. We can afford to live a little."

They waded out into the low surf hand-in-hand, smiling like children. Mr. Carson felt the loose sand shift under his feet with every step. It was thrilling and frightening. He held his free hand out for balance, like a tightrope walker. Mrs. Hughes felt a clump of seaweed squish between her toes and tried not to giggle. She held her skirt up with her free hand. The breeze was gusty and she was unsure of her hat, but she was more interested in keeping her skirt hem dry than checking her hat. And nothing was about to make her release his hand.

She turned her head to check on his progress. She wanted desperately to say something else he might interpret as risqué. He still looked unsteady, so she squeezed his hand.

"You're not afraid, are you?"

"No, but I must observe that the known is infinitely preferable to the unknown."

"That is debatable, but then, everything known was once _un_known."

"That is very philosophical of you."

"I was going for risqué." She said, but he did not hear her. For, at that very moment the breeze freshened and her hat flew off her head. It landed in the water further out.

"Oh, dear!" Mrs. Hughes exclaimed.

"Ahoy! I say there!" Mr. Carson cried out to a set of nearby bathers who were splashing about like seals, their heads bobbing on the softly rolling swells of water. These happy idiots paid Mr. Carson no heed.

The traitorous headgear floated teasingly on the surface, moving further away from them. Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes were at a point where they would both get their clothing wet if they took a step further. In desperation, he released her hand and waded further towards the hat.

The hat continued its seaward journey as he tiptoed after it as quickly as he could, trying to avoid the seaweed. His trousers were now wet to the knee, but it would be silly to get so wet and then return without his prize. He was vaguely aware of her calling after him. "It's not worth it, Mr. Carson. It's just a silly hat. Look up, Mr. Carson. There's a wave coming!"

"A what?" Stupidly, he turned back to her for clarification rather than scanning the oncoming sea. Behind him, a swell, larger than those previous, actually became a wave. It broke just as it slammed into the back of his legs. The cold water splashed up his back and over his shoulders, drenching the back of him head to toe.

He could see she was trying desperately not to laugh. Unable to fight a war on two fronts, he decided it was best to face the ocean for now and face the humiliation later. He turned and saw that the hat had been brought back closer by the wave. It was almost within his grasp. He took two more great steps out and he had secured the runaway bonnet. He was standing thigh deep in the water, but the waves were reaching as high as his waistcoat.

Trying to ignore his discomfort, Carson headed back towards the beach, watching over his shoulder for any other large waves. He reached Mrs. Hughes without further incident. She had long since lost her battle against her laughter. "Oh, thank you. But, bless me, you are a sight!"

He handed her back the hat and pulled out his watch. He held it up to his ear, frowning mightily. "I might point out this was precisely the sort of thing I was afraid of."

"And now that the worst has happened, was it worth the risk?" She smiled coyly.

Not noticing her playfulness, he huffed, "You tell me. Is that hat worth more or less than my trousers?"

She rolled her eyes at him but did not stop smiling and snickering. "When I said we could afford to live a little, I wasn't thinking in terms of literal money."

"I guess I _can_ afford a new pair of trousers." He said, begrudgingly. "But I've got to get out of _these_ trousers at once. Can you help me?" He held out his hand for assistance reaching the shore.

"I don't know how, but you managed to make that sound a little risqué." She teased.

Finally, his gruff demeanor dissolved. He could not help but admire her for throwing his earlier words back at him. He smiled apologetically. "I don't know how I could have managed not to."

"No, nor do I. Be assured, I shall be happy to assist you in _any_ way."

"I appreciate that, but, the least I could do is buy you a custard first."

She dropped the hem of her skirt into the water and took his hand in hers. Laughing confidently, they walked back toward the safety of dry land. When they reached the beach, he squeezed her hand. She thought for a moment that he meant to release it, but he did not.

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**A/N Though I got my Christmas wish, I am still an ungrateful and impatient woman. I needed just a bit more to assure me that these two are headed in the right direction...and will get somewhere before WWII. **

**Happy Chelsie Canon Boxing Day! These two are just too cute!  
**

**ETA- Here is t****he original description...2013 Christmas Special extended ending. SPOILERS FOR S0409! I appreciate that Fellowes likes to leave something to the imagination, but... Actually, no, I don't. I don't appreciate it at all. Here's one minute more of dialogue and "action" that I feel should have aired[ more]. I can only hope that it is sitting on the cutting room floor somewhere and will show up in the DVD extras.**

******Obviously, the story has grown beyond that scope...**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N Because someone asked for it, because enough reviews fed my ego and because these two kept going in my mind, here is a continuation of the beach scene... Series 4 SPOILERS are discussed below.**

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They walked along the path of huts that ran parallel to the shoreline enjoying their frozen treats. Carson had bought himself a caramel custard. Mrs. Hughes had decided to try the lemon ice which she was now consuming with the assistance of a small wooden spoon. Since she needed both hands for this operation, she had looped her arm through his.

"Now, about those trousers…" She reminded him, playfully.

"I believe I saw a clothing stall further up." He answered seriously, pointing with his cone of custard. He relaxed somewhat when he looked down at her. "Are you enjoying the ice?"

"Very much."

"Is it as good as Mrs. Patmore's?"

"Judge for yourself." She stopped walking and held the spoon up to him with a healthy dollop of the ice.

He hesitated for a moment and looked around quickly. Seeing no one from Downton about, he allowed her to feed him the spoonful before they continued walking. "Hmm. It's good. Though, it's unfair to compare it to Mrs. Patmore's."

"Why is that?"

"Extenuating factors certainly make this one preferable."

She smiled to herself and settled more comfortably on his arm. Soon, they came to a hut displaying hats and umbrellas and bathing costumes. "This is the one." He said. She discarded the empty cup and the wooden spoon. He had finished his custard.

"You can't think they sell trousers here."

"There's a pair of shorts. They might have long trousers that are not on display."

The old man running the booth finished selling a pair of tinted glasses to a customer and turned to address Mr. Carson. "And 'ow may I be 'elpin' you, sir?"

"Have you any trousers for sale?"

The man stared at Mr. Carson, open mouthed. "Wha'? Trousers, you say?"

"As you can see, I've gotten mine wet and I'd like to purchase some dry trousers."

"I don't have no trousers. We do sell bathing costumes, but people generally want those before they gets wet." The man pointed out logically. Mr. Carson did not find his observation humorous.

Mrs. Hughes sniggered at the thought of Mr. Carson in a bathing costume. "What about those shorts?" Mrs. Hughes asked. That would be almost as good.

Mr. Carson was becoming flustered by the situation. He looked ridiculous with his legs and backside wet, but he would look even more ridiculous in those shorts. "I have not worn short pants since I was a lad."

"Oh, those aren't short pants. They are Bermuda shorts. All the rage now, they are." The old man explained. "Would you like to try them on? There's a curtain, just there you can change behind."

Mr. Carson stared blankly at the man as he pointed towards a wire with a thin piece of worn cloth hanging from it. He refused to accept the offered shorts and shook his head. The prospect of riding home on the train in wet trousers and undershorts was beginning to dampen his happy mood. The thought that he might actually return to Grantham House with his clothes in this state was appalling. "Well, are you buying somefing or not?" The old man pressed.

Fed up with the whole situation, Mr. Carson asked crossly, "Do you by chance have anything that would help a woman keep her hat on her head?"

Mrs. Hughes huffed at him and started walking back the way they'd come, leaving him with the perplexed salesman.

" 'Ow bout a nice scarf?"

Mr. Carson looked after her. He had not meant to be so rude. "Yes. Yes, that one, there."

When he caught back up to her, she would not take his arm, which disappointed him greatly. "I am sorry for my behavior just now. Please don't let that ruin an otherwise lovely day." He offered her his arm again. Hesitantly, she took it. He placed his free hand over hers, covering it with a linen scarf adorned with a peach, pale blue and ivory floral pattern. "Please accept this as an apology."

She did not seem to have seen the scarf and he was beginning to despair when she sighed and shook her head. She tied the scarf fetchingly around her neck and took his arm again. "Apology accepted."

They walked a bit further before Mrs. Hughes commented, "I believe you should congratulate yourself. Everyone has enjoyed the outing immensely."

"_You_ needn't look so smug." He smiled down at her.

"Whatever do you mean?"

"You think you brought this all about; the trip to the seaside."

"I don't know to what you are referring." She replied, with exaggerated innocence.

"No one but you would be brave enough to post something on my bulletin board. At my eye level. Did you think you were being subtle or clever?" She did not answer. "You know, I _asked_ for your opinion and you could have told me from the start that they'd prefer the sea to any museum."

She knew there was no point in dissembling any further. Sighing, she admitted, "I didn't want to hurt your feelings, you were that excited. And there was a _chance_ that some of them might actually like your ideas."

"Well, they did not. Though I still don't understand that. There is next to no culture available to them in Yorkshire. I should have jumped at the chance to visit such fine institutions when I was a young man."

"Then you must have been a singular young man." She only half joked.

"I certainly liked to think so." He was rewarded for this bit of self-deprecation by a smile and a laugh. "But I'm still surprised they'd choose playing football in the sand over anything else London has to offer."

"They work inside day in and day out surrounded by beautiful things that they don't own. A day at a museum isn't very different from a normal day; except they don't have to _dust_ the artifacts."

"But the Crystal Palace is an engineering marvel..."

"First of all, it's been at the 'new' location since before any of them were born. And secondly, a building made entirely out of windows? All I'd be thinking is, how long it must take to wash them all." She raised her eyebrows at him, willing him to see her point.

"But it's a war museum just now." He argued.

"Oh, more fun yet." Her sarcasm finally convinced him to stop defending his position.

"Fine, but they can get plenty of nature at Downton on a normal half day. The grounds are very nice, rolling green meadows and the moors close by. At the beach, it's just sand and water. The _sand_ gets everywhere..." He shifted uncomfortably, as if proving the point. "And the water…well, it doesn't always cooperate."

She nodded her agreement. "That is true, but they don't seem to mind."

"Nor did I, I suppose; when I was younger."

"You've been to the Brighton before then?"

"There are several very nice theatres here. Grigg and I worked a few of them off and on during the Seasons we were together."

"And did Alice and her sister work here with you?" She asked before she could think any better of it.

He paused before answering. "Not that I can remember, but it was a long time ago."

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't pry."

"Nonsense. Prying is in your nature. You are who you are, Mrs. Hughes, and I would not ask you to change. Indeed, I am trying to learn to be flattered by the interest." He tried to joke, but it fell flat. He knew he was just trying to avoid answering her further. But something moved him to continue talking about Alice. "Since you insisted I put her picture on my desk, I've come to realize that all these years, she was never an actual person to me. When I knew her, I was over forty. I knew if I wanted a family, I had better start one soon. She was pretty enough and seemed kind and gentle, so I decided she was the one. You didn't really have much more to go on back then, other than looks and demeanor.

"Over the years, she came to represent something that had been taken from me. It was easier to blame her or Grigg than to accept what I had given it up willingly. It's not as though Alice was the only likely girl in London."

He knit his brow seriously for a bit before relaxing his countenance. "Do you know, I cannot remember a single conversation with Alice? Not one. All I have is a picture and a playbill. If I didn't have those, I'd probably have long since forgotten her."

"I doubt that."

"Well, she wouldn't have held such a place in my imagination without them." His steps had been slowing and now he stopped.

Mrs. Hughes followed his eyes. They were approaching the jetty where the others had set up the picnic basket and blankets. She felt his arm pull away from her. "There now, Mr. Carson. There's nothing wrong with two old friends walking arm in arm."

"No, of course not, but they might think…"

"They'll not think anything of it if we don't make anything of it." She reassured him. "Just act naturally."

"Right." He steeled himself. She could almost see the mask labeled 'butler' being slipped back on. "Though, perhaps you shouldn't lean into me quite so much. They might misunderstand."

"Well, we wouldn't want that." The sad tone in her voice caught him off guard. He started to say something, but she had already begun to walk briskly towards the jetty, pulling him with her.

TBC...

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**A/N I've ideas for a few more chapters, but not many. I've other projects I need to focus on. The longer this carries on, the more out of character they are likely to become and the more speculative the plot. What I've gathered from Series 4 is he's willing to thaw and she's becoming bolder.  
**

**Historical note, Bermuda shorts were developed for British troops at the turn of the century. They did become popular with British tourists in the 1920's, just not sure of the exact year. **

**Thanks for reading. ** **Reviews matter.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Reposting Chapter 3 due to FanFic Dot Net issues. No notices went out.**

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Though his outward demeanor betrayed nothing, Carson was feeling unsteady as he and Mrs. Hughes approached Daisy and Mrs. Patmore. When they reached the point where the rocks began and the footing became unsure, she inexplicably released his arm and hurried before him.

_Is that acting naturally?_ He asked himself, standing, abandoned, on the loose rocks above Miss Baxter and Mr. Molesley. _Those two are becoming rather chummy_, he noted briefly, but he had larger matters on his mind. He considered them now as he looked out at the staff on the beach, watching Mrs. Hughes out of the corner of his eye. Why had she run from him just now? Had his reasonable concern for how others would perceive them together hurt her feelings? He thought she was more sensible than that. But he did not know her feelings on this matter, no more than he knew his own. And what had she meant, exactly, by 'live a little'?

Carson realized that he had been standing there, dumbly for almost a full minute. To cover for his behavior, he consulted his watch. "We should head towards the station in approximately thirty minutes. Please make sure everyone on the beach is aware of this, Mr. Molesley."

The mousy man jumped up and stammered his affirmative.

"I shall continue up the beach and inform Mr. and Mrs. Bates." He announced to no one in particular. With that, he made his escape.

Mrs. Hughes had settled on the blanket next to Daisy, studiously ignoring the blowhard of a butler. _Leave it to him to ruin a perfectly innocent…flirtation?_ She stopped to consider. _God, that's what it was._ She had to admit it now. She hadn't set out to flirt with him today, in plain sight of the whole staff. Her tentative, private efforts to draw him out were proving difficult enough for him to process. She had been moving things along slowly over the past year, not in a calculated way, but certainly in a cautious way. Seeing him today, trying so hard to relax and looking so vulnerable, she had responded instinctively and had reached out to him. To her immense pleasure and surprise, he had accepted her hand. Then, the pure joy of watching him splash about after her hat had driven all thought of propriety or obligation from her mind. She was a fool to think the day might have had the same effect upon him.

"I thought your hat was a goner." Mrs. Patmore's comment broke into her thoughts.

"You saw that, did you?" Mrs. Hughes asked, trying to sound disinterested.

"Well, it was hard not to. And let me say, that there was worth the price of admission!" The cook chortled. "I only wish I was close enough to see the look on his face when that wave hit him up the backside."

Despite her dour mood, Mrs. Hughes could not help but laugh at the memory. "Do you remember how he looked when Mr. Ross and his band came to Downton?"

Mrs. Patmore nodded enthusiastically.

"It was like that, only more wet." Mrs. Hughes informed her. Both women erupted in giggles. Mrs. Hughes began to relax a bit, grateful to her friend for lightening her mood.

"I'll bet the poor man is regretting it now." Mrs. Patmore pointed out.

"What do you mean?"

"Have you ever worn wet wool?"

"Of course, most of my coats are wool."

"I meant, directly against your skin?"

"No, not that I remember."

"Well, it's a might uncomfortable. The water makes the wool heavy and it takes a dog's age to dry. It may look like he's near dry, but he can't be, not after the soaking he took. And in this heat, he must be practically steaming in those pants."

"I hadn't thought of that." Mrs. Hughes looked down the beach where she could just make out Mr. Carson speaking to Bates and Anna.

"Maybe that's why Scotsmen wear kilts. Wet wool trousers could stop an army in its tracks."

Mrs. Hughes now felt badly for her thoughtlessness. It was easy for her to have no fear of getting wet; she was wearing a cotton skirt that was already dry. In light of how uncomfortable he probably was, she should be impressed by how gracious he had been during their walk up the beach and back. Still, she could not help but be hurt by his comment that she should not lean 'into him' so much.

"Oh, that's a lovely scarf, Mrs. Hughes. Is it new?" Daisy asked.

"Yes, it's from one of the stalls on the walk back towards the station." She saw no need to mention who had purchased it.

"It's the perfect color for you. That blue is _exactly _your eye color." The young girl commented.

"Is it? I hadn't noticed."

"Well, someone did, I'll wager." Mrs. Patmore said, knowingly. Mrs. Hughes shot her a withering look but the cook returned her glare steadily and would not back down. Finally, Mrs. Hughes admitted defeat and turned her gaze towards the staff on the beach kicking the football around.

A while later, Anna and Mr. Bates arrived but Mr. Carson was not with them. "And where has himself gotten off to?" Mrs. Patmore asked loudly.

"I don't know." Anna answered. "Mr. Carson said he'd join us all shortly."

This seemed curious to Mrs. Hughes, but she was not about to call any attention to herself in regards to Mr. Carson. The game on the beach was winding down as Mr. Molesley reminded them of the time. It was a good thing the family was dining at Lady Rosemund's this evening. Mrs. Hughes suspected most of the staff would be near worthless tonight from exhaustion.

The ladies were starting to repack the baskets; putting the leftover scones and sandwiches in one basket for easy access on the train ride back to London. The men were shaking out and folding the blankets to place in the remaining baskets when Mr. Carson arrived. "Well, I see you are almost prepared. Excellent." He looked around, mentally counting his charges. "We are all here. James, Mr. Molesley, would you kindly fetch our jackets?"

The footman retrieved the small pile of men's jackets and distributed them quickly. "Shall we start back towards the station, then?" Mr. Carson instructed as he shrugged into his jacket.

Mr. Carson stepped down towards Mrs. Hughes to offer her a hand stepping over the band of loose rocks at the top of the sand, but she walked surely past him. Not missing a beat, he offered assistance to Daisy and, having seen her safely to the path, he returned for Mrs. Patmore. She was still fighting with her canvas chair.

"Mr. Barrow, please take charge of Mrs. Patmore's chair." The cook smiled appreciatively and handed the rental ticket to Thomas so he could collect her deposit. Mr. Carson offered her his hand and she took it gladly. When they reached the even path, she took his arm as if it were the most natural thing in the world. It startled him, but, when he looked down, she gave him a mighty wink and he understood. People would not be able to say that Mr. Carson had paid inappropriate attentions to Mrs. Hughes if he offered the same courtesy to Mrs. Patmore.

Mr. Carson was thankful for Mrs. Patmore's insight and assistance. Most of the young staff would never consider anything possible between the heads of household. Indeed, Mr. Carson was rather unsure of the possibility himself, but it was better to be safe than sorry. He looked up to see Mr. Molesley offering his arm to Mrs. Hughes. Miss Baxter was walking with Daisy. Ivy was walking with that American.

Everyone was still in high spirits and no one seemed to have taken any notice of Mrs. Patmore's presence on Mr. Carson's arm. Unknown to Mr. Carson, two people _had_ taken particular note; Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Barrow.

TBC...

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**A/N Thank you for the reviews and comments and follows and such. I'm not being very vigilant at replying, but I shall endeavor to do better. **

**There are so many great continuations of Series 4 going on right now from the Chelsie perspective that I'm a little overwhelmed. I hope you are enjoying them as much as I am. Each of them is wonderfully unique, but I think we've all agreed that Mr. Carson knew he was being manipulated by Mrs. Hughes and that he did not mind it one bit;)**


	4. Chapter 4

The Pullman car containing the Downton staff was noisy and happy all the way back to London. Mr. Carson had budgeted for the staff to enjoy tea on the return trip and they had surrounded the tea trolley like locust, choosing cakes and fresh sandwiches to supplement the leftover scones and sandwiches they already had.

Most of the staff were surprised to find that they were able to eat another bite. They felt they'd been eating all day long, and, indeed, they had. However, all the activity and the salt air had stimulated their appetites. Mr. Carson had anticipated this and he made sure everyone was satisfied before he slipped out the back of the car, unnoticed.

Mrs. Hughes had not seen him leave after settling the bill with the trolley attendant, but his absence was immediately felt by her. Knowing there was only one direction he could have gone, she excused herself and followed him.

She found him on the small deck on the back of the car; they were in the last car of three. The empty rails ran behind them leading back to the beach. He had one foot resting on the bottom of the railing, obviously still trying to dry his trousers. "Are you not dry yet?"

"Almost. " He brought his leg back down and stood formally before her on the narrow balcony. "But I am certainly too damp to sit on those velvet seats."

"It's the Brighton Pullman, I'm sure they are used to damp passengers." She assured him. "And sandy. James seems to be leaving a trail of sand behind him wherever he goes."

When Mr. Carson did not respond to her attempt to lighten the mood, Mrs. Hughes continued, "I feel sorry for Mrs. Butte."

"Why is that?"

"I don't think she'll appreciate our bringing the beach back for her. She'll be sweeping sand out of the attics for weeks." Mrs. Hughes teased. "And she didn't even get to enjoy the day."

"About that… I hope I didn't cause you to not enjoy the day. I know you were upset with me at the end of our walk but I think you understand why I acted as I did."

"I do and I might have overreacted a touch." She admitted, but she felt the need to explain. "I didn't see anything inappropriate in anything we did today and I was hurt to think that _you_ did."

"I did not consider us as having done anything improper; I was only concerned that others might. I do not imagine for one moment that you would behave improperly, Mrs. Hughes."

"I am sorry to hear you say that." She said with a sly smile.

"What?" He could hardly believe his ears.

"That you can't imagine it. Not even for one moment? That is a disappointment." She arched a brow at him.

He returned her look dubiously. "I believe a statement like that is where today's problems began."

Whatever response she might have offered to this was wiped away when the train car jumped roughly. Mrs. Hughes, who had not been holding on to the railing was thrown against Mr. Carson. He caught her in one great arm and held her against him so she would not fall. One hand gripping instinctively, she grabbed the top of his vest for support.

Gently, he returned her to arm's length, assuring that she was stable before releasing his hold on her arm grudgingly. He tried to ignore how warm touching her made his hand feel. Looking down, he noticed that his vest, tie and shirt had all been knocked askew where she had grasped. Quickly, he rebuttoned his shirt and vest and readjusted his tie.

Though Mrs. Hughes did not intend to stare at his chest, she could not help but follow the swift and sure motions of his hands. She saw a flash of black fabric beneath his shirt and a realization dawned. She allowed him to compose himself before asking, "Mr. Carson, are you wearing... a _bathing costume _underneath your suit?"

The sheepish look on his face was all the answer she needed. Trying not to spook him with laughter, Mrs. Hughes managed to calmly ask, "When?"

"I went back to the stall after speaking to Anna and Mr. Bates."

"And may I ask why?"

"Erm...well..." Carson stammered for a bit. How did a gentleman explain chafing to a lady? "I thought it might be more comfortable." He finally ventured. He did not feel the need to go into detail or explain how he had discarded his wet undershorts in a bin at the beach.

The door from the train compartment opened before she could ask any further questions. Mr. Carson looked up with relief to see who his savior was but he was disappointed to see Mr. Barrow joining them. The under butler was already lighting a cigarette as he walked onto the train porch.

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything, Mr. Carson." Thomas apologized with zero sincerity before taking a slow drag on his cigarette.

"We were just enjoying the last of the fresh air." Mr. Carson said pointedly as Thomas blew out a lungful of acrid smoke.

"What a coincidence. Me too." Thomas inhaled deeply again, relishing the irony.

The three of them stood in awkward silence for several minutes as Thomas finished his cigarette. The heads of household ignored the under butler almost as intently as he watched them. Flicking the butt carelessly off the back of the train, Thomas turned to go back inside. "Well, I'll leave you to it, but I'd be careful if I were you, Mr. Carson."

"I beg your pardon?" The butler looked at him, incredulous that Thomas would offer him advice.

"Mrs. Patmore strikes me as the jealous type."

Mrs. Hughes had to pull Mr. Carson back from following Thomas into the car and dressing him down before the entire staff. "He's only trying to rile you, Mr. Carson, stay calm. We're almost back to London. You don't want to ruin everyone's day by confronting him here."

"That's exactly what he's counting on." Carson growled. His patience with Mr. Barrow's growing insolence was almost at an end.

She could see his indignation building. She was not getting through to him. His knuckles turned white as his grip on the railing tightened. Mrs. Hughes covered his hand with her hand, stroking his thumb with hers. She saw his breathing slow and felt his hand relax in her hers. He nodded to her and offered an appreciative smile.

"We'd best go back in, Mrs. Hughes. Or people may talk." He said, sardonically.

_Let them,_ she thought.

TBC…

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**Psst. I love reviews;)**


	5. Chapter 5

As Mrs. Hughes predicted, the staff of Grantham House were exhausted after their day at the sea. Most were free to turn in early, but Mr. Bates, Anna, Miss Baxter and Mr. Molesley drew the unenviable duty of waiting up for the family to return from Lady Rosamund's. Mr. Carson had intended to assign Mr. Barrow to the late shift on door, but Molesley volunteered to stay up with the valet and ladies maids.

"Are you sure, Mr. Molesley? It is not your turn in the rotation for late."

"I don't mind, Mr. Carson. I'm not the least bit tired." And Mr. Carson had to admit that the footman seemed as alert and fresh as Mr. Carson had ever seen him.

"Very well, Mr. Molesley. Thank you. Mr. Barrow owes you a debt." Mr. Carson said, looking meaningfully in the under butler's direction. But Mr. Barrow only shrugged and smirked in return.

Mr. Carson let this pass for the moment, but the glare he delivered did not go unnoticed. Mrs. Hughes followed Mr. Carson into his pantry as most of the staff headed upstairs.

"You aren't going to make a fuss about Mr. Barrow tonight, are you?"

"No, but why is he so bold all of a sudden, I should like to know?" He wondered, suspiciously.

Mrs. Hughes had not considered this question. "Perhaps he is just restless. Daisy and Ivy say he was not too keen being left to watch over Mr. Branson and the children."

"It should make no difference to him if he's left to watch over the full family, the dog, an empty house or a hole in the ground."

"I agree, but, obviously, he does not." She soothed.

"One guess whether or not I care." Mr. Carson fumed. "He is up to something and I do not like it one bit."

"He's always up to something. I shouldn't let it bother you." She tried in vain to hide a cavernous yawn daintily behind her hand. Mr. Carson could not help but smile at such an endearing sight. He knew she must be very weary indeed to show such weakness.

"It's been quite a day. You should turn in, Mrs. Hughes. I promise not to antagonize Mr. Barrow tonight."

She accepted his promise and bid him goodnight.

A few minutes later, Mr. Carson climbed the flights of stairs to the attics. The queue for the washroom was long, as he had anticipated. A long soak was not in the offing tonight. He could have asserted his position as butler and jumped the line, as Thomas apparently had, but that had never been his way. He turned into his room and closed the door behind him. Before undressing, Mr. Carson laid a towel on the floor of his room before his dresser drawers to catch the sand. Mrs. Hughes had been correct. They had brought the beach back with them. Each article of clothing he removed released an almost impossible amount of sand. He was going to get an earful from Mrs. Butte and no mistake.

Mr. Carson now stood only in the bathing costume he had purchased. He was silently thankful there was no full length mirror in this room, but even so, he knew he must look a fool. It had been a wrench for him to splurge for the costume which he doubted he'd ever have use for again, but his discomfort had been extreme. And maybe there would be other trips to the sea in his future. The future was a strange creature, after all.

He poured a small portion of clean water from the pitcher into his porcelain basin. With a flannel and fresh towel, Mr. Carson washed as well as he could for the time being and dressed in his fresh cotton underclothes and pajamas. The relative weightlessness of the clean, crisp cotton after a day of heavy wool gave him a sense of lightness. Rather than letting exhaustion wash over him, Mr. Carson felt a wave of energy. Wrapping his robe around him, he gathered the sandy clothes and the sandy towel in a tight bundle and headed back downstairs to the laundry room.

Anna and Miss Baxter were both in the laundry room, making the best of the time they must spend awaiting their mistresses. Mr. Carson had not expected this. He had expected them to be waiting in the servant's hall having tea or coffee, trying to stay awake. But this was a much more efficient use of their time and he should have anticipated them being there. They were both sensible women and he knew his informal attire would not be offensive to them, but he was still uncomfortable sharing the laundry room with them, especially dressed as he was.

"Shall I rinse your clothes for you, Mr. Carson? I already have Mr. Bates' clothes soaking. I wanted to get that salt and sand out as quickly as possible." Anna offered, knowing he had not expected company downstairs and hoping to allow him to escape sooner rather than later.

"Thank you, Anna, but let me shake some of the sand out first." He took the bundle out the back door and placed it on a bin beside the door. He opened it and, item by item, he took shook off the sand vigorously. He would not be able to buy much more time. His dilemma was looming. How was he going to conceal the bathing costume?

Fate must have decided that he had suffered enough humiliation for one day, because, just as he was running out of clothes to shake out, the family's arrival called Anna and Miss Baxter away briefly. Mr. Carson knew they would be back, so he acted swiftly, rinsing the bathing costume and wrapping it in a clean towel to carry it back to his room.

With his dark secret securely hidden, Mr. Carson rinsed his and Mr. Bates' suits and refilled the basin with clean water for one last rinse. He was just starting when the valet himself arrived, wearing his full livery. "I can finish that up, Mr. Carson. Anna said you'd be down here."

"It's almost done, Mr. Bates."

"Exactly, Mr. Carson, it's an easy matter for me to finish up. And you are already dressed for bed." The younger man insisted.

"Very well. Thank you. Good night, Mr. Bates." Mr. Carson took up the towel and bathing costume and headed for the stairs for the second time that evening.

"Good night, Mr. Carson."

Back in his room, exhaustion finally caught up to him and he could fight no more. After climbing into his tiny bed, fatigue forced him to at last lay still and silent. These quiet breaths between activity and sleep were the moments he dreaded most; always had. They were the brief seconds in his life when no mask or barriers existed, when he dropped all resistance and waited for rest to claim him. This was the time for realizations and epiphanies, as much as he wished to deny them. He was not the sharpest knife in the drawer, he knew, but he was certainly one of the most persistent. As Mrs. Hughes had observed, he usually 'got there' in the end. This past year especially, certain truths had grown bold and asserted themselves in his mind in these moments of vulnerability. Tonight, one truth was more insistent than ever.

How could he deny the thrill he had felt today, first when she had offered him her hand and then, when he had taken it? The memory of her words, of her looks, played in his thoughts. He turned them over in his mind like a diamond in his hand, examining every facet of the day's events to better understand them despite his fear. As he drifted into sleep, the diamond melted in his hand and became a great, glittering sea. It dazzled him and blinded him like the sunlight off the water reflected in her eyes before he sank beneath the surface into ignorant oblivion.

TBC...

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**A/N I know not very much happened this chapter, but I'm trying to keep them brief, so I can post daily. And this is what we get in approx. 1000 words;)  
**

**"Will Work for Reviews"**


	6. Chapter 6

Friday morning was a flurry of activity as Mrs. Levinson, Mr. Levinson and their entourage departed for the continent. Mr. Levinson's young valet was obviously overwhelmed and Mr. Carson was happy to help him, glad of the distraction. Something was buzzing about the periphery of his mind, but he felt it was something he was not ready to face. As long as he kept moving, he would not have to.

In retrospect, Mr. Carson was impressed that Mr. Slade had managed to arrive in England in one piece and with most of Mr. Levinson's belongings. He wished them both luck for the rest of their European tour. They were going to need it.

Mr. Carson was greatly relieved that Mrs. Levinson had not recruited one of the Crawley's maids as her new ladies maid. It was bad enough form that Mr. Levinson was trying to poach one of their kitchen maids! Mrs. Levinson had stolen Lady Rosamund's maid, which had caused much awkwardness on the final evening. Mr. Carson was just glad that he would not have to explain to Mrs. Butte why one of her staff had deserted the house midseason.

Speaking of Mrs. Butte, after returning from seeing the Levinson party off at the boat train, Mr. Carson had received a call from the London housekeeper informing him that she had received a clean bill of health and would be returning from her brother's on Tuesday. This meant Mrs. Hughes, Mr. Barrow, Daisy and Ivy would be heading back to Downton soon. It meant a return to how things should be. So why did the prospect agitate him further rather than calm him?

-00-

Mrs. Hughes was worried. Mr. Carson had been quiet all morning. Well, not exactly quiet, but he had not spoken much at meal times except to inform the staff of the family's plans for the day. It was to be another day of visiting and dining and yet another ball. This presented the opportunity for additional time off for most of the staff during dinner hours. Mr. Bates and Anna were making plans for an evening at the theatre. Several of the younger staff were planning to visit the cinema.

Mr. Carson had informed the staff due to return to Downton of their fate at lunch. While Mrs. Hughes had no great love for London, she could not help but dread the impending exile acutely. As a small consolation, Mr. Carson made sure that any staff leaving London soon received priority for time off over the next few days, for which Mrs. Hughes was very grateful.

"You won't often get to see London in the height of its Season, you should take advantage." She reminded Ivy and Daisy, but speaking as much to herself as to them.

"And what are you planning to do with your night off?" Mrs. Patmore asked her friend as the girls scampered off to make their plans.

"There is a concert at St. Columba's tonight. Traditional Scottish Hymns. It would be nice to go. I don't get to hear many of the hymns of my youth in Yorkshire. Mr. Travis is so English." She told Mrs. Patmore. "Is there any chance you might get the night off? I'd prefer not to go alone."

"With both Ivy and Daisy out at the pictures, I'm afraid this bird's wings are clipped for the night." Mrs. Patmore lamented. "You should ask Mr. Carson. He's the only one around here who has any appreciation for Scottish things." She grinned deliberately and tilted her head.

Mrs. Hughes shot her friend a scathing look, but then was thoughtful. "He can't be free tonight." Mrs. Hughes argued, actually considering the possibility.

"You won't know unless you ask." Mrs. Patmore pointed out, sensibly. "And even if he can't go…" She left the rest hanging in the expectant air.

Mrs. Hughes grew tired of waiting for Mrs. Patmore to finish her statement. "What? Even if he can't go….WHAT?"

"At least you'll have _asked_." The cook said, her demeanor almost sad now, in stark contrast to the teasing of a few moments earlier.

Mrs. Hughes nodded, finally understanding. She will have asked and he would know that she wanted to spend more time with him, outside of Grantham House. It was just another little step in their dance. But it was _not _a little step, she realized. It was a bold step. She wasn't even sure that Mr. Carson was aware that he was part of a dance yet. This would certainly alert him, if the day at the beach had not.

It _was_ a risk, she knew, but a calculated one. It was perfectly expected that he should say no, so there would be no embarrassment for him to do so. And there would be no embarrassment for her. Well, perhaps a little, but she had the whole rest of the Season to get over it. But he might express disappointment at not being able to join her, which would be something. Or he might be able to clear his schedule and…

Mrs. Hughes sighed. She'd done this to herself before. She'd let her mind hope five steps down the road when she knew it was unlikely Mr. Carson would even take step one. She smiled sadly at Mrs. Patmore, but her posture was strong and daring. "I believe I will ask, Mrs. Patmore. Nothing ventured, nothing gained."

"That's the spirit!"

-00-

At family tea, Mr. Carson had delivered the thanks of a grateful household to Her Ladyship and His Lordship, along with a bag of saltwater taffy he'd asked Mr. Bates to purchase. Mr. Carson knew how much Lady Mary and Lady Grantham enjoyed taffy. Leaving them to stick their teeth together in dignified privacy, Mr. Carson headed back to his office. The earlier madness of the day was passing. He was reaching the point at which he would have to acknowledge the matter that had been niggling at him all day.

When he reached his office, he went straight to his ledgers. He had finished tallying the receipts from yesterday's outing and balancing the household books first thing this morning, but he thought another check might be in order. He had difficulty concentrating right away. He felt untethered. Had it really only been twenty four hours earlier that he had felt so solid and sure while holding her hand?

Her knock sounded as if on cue. He stood quickly, grabbing randomly at a pile of papers on his desk. He held them close to his vest with his left hand like a shield covering his heart. She smiled at him, noting how much he looked like Miss Sybbie holding her 'blankey,' the small silk and cotton square she carried with her everywhere. Mrs. Hughes imagined he might cry almost as loudly as the young child if anyone were to take his precious papers away.

"I am sorry to disturb you, Mr. Carson. I just wanted to confirm that I would be taking some time off this evening."

"Yes? Oh, very good, Mrs. Hughes. You certainly deserve it." He stammered. Had she always looked at him so piercingly? A sudden, mad idea took root in his imagination. He set the documents back on his desk, lowering his useless paper shield. "And have you something particular planned for this evening? If I may ask."

"As a matter of fact, I do." She said. She paused briefly, letting her courage build.

"Oh." He interrupted her unwittingly. He seemed disappointed, which confused her. "It's only that…Do you like Scottish Hymns, Mrs. Hughes? There is a concert tonight." He blurted out almost in one breath. He pointed at the flyer on his bulletin board. He had picked it up at the station this morning, thinking she might enjoy the music.

_How long has that been there? _ She wondered, but forgot everything else as he continued.

"It's in aid of Russian refugees, and…"

There was a shout and crash from beyond the kitchens.

"Mr. Carson!" James came running into the room. "It's the boiler!"

TBC...Next Year!

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**A/N HA! Happy New Year! Drink, read, drink, review, repeat!  
**


	7. Chapter 7

"Blast!" Mr. Carson stormed out of the room, following James to the boiler.

Mrs. Hughes remained standing in his office where he had left her. Her astonished mind was still trying to process what had just transpired. Or at least what she _thought_ had almost transpired. Had he been trying to ask her to the concert?

She could hear his raised voice, now at the boiler. "Was anyone injured?" The thought that someone might be hurt roused Mrs. Hughes from her shocked state. When she heard Mrs. Patmore answer in the negative, she decided she was not needed.

"Mr. Molesley, kindly step away before you hurt yourself. You cannot simply start opening and closing valves randomly." There was a huge hiss of steam as if the beleaguered boiler were breathing its last. Mr. Carson's quick step hurried through the kitchens back to his office.

He seemed surprised to find her still waiting there. Mr. Carson looked as though he was about to say something, but thought better of it. He picked up the phone and asked the switchboard operator for a Kensington number he knew by heart.

"Mr. Toby. This is Mr. Carson at Grantham House. I'm afraid the boiler has been acting up again… Probably the pump, but you are the expert…Yes, I've vented the pressure, but this looks quite serious…I realize that it is Friday evening, but you must realize that we did not plan for the boiler to breakdown…I see…Yes, thank you." Frustrated, Mr. Carson hung up the phone and stood beside his desk, defeated. "He'll get to us when he can."

"And what does that mean, exactly?" She asked calmly.

"It means that I am being held hostage by a hunk of metal. I am very sorry, Mrs. Hughes, but I fear that I may not be free to escort you to the concert tonight."

She raised her eyebrows at that. He certainly was assuming a lot. "I was not aware that you were planning to do so, Mr. Carson."

"Oh, of course, you already had plans. I'm sorry." He looked uncomfortable and disappointed. "You had said that, but then we were interrupted and I forgot."

"Yes, we were interrupted and I did not have time to tell you that I was already planning to attend the concert on my own." She explained. "But I would be happy to have you accompany me."

"Would you?" He looked hopeful for one heartbeat and then he remembered the predicament he was in. "And I should have been happy to join you. Unfortunately, it all depends upon Mr. Toby and the boiler situation, which does not look promising. Thankfully, all the family have bathed for today, but I must get this resolved tonight."

"I understand." And she did understand. Mrs. Hughes was terribly disappointed, but she knew he could not leave the house in the middle of a boiler emergency. She would have to be content to know that he had admitted that he wanted to accompany her, which was no small admission. "Perhaps another time."

He nodded noncommittally at this, unable to meet her eyes. He knew there was not likely to be another chance anytime soon. Mrs. Hughes was leaving his office when she had an idea. "Mr. Branson might be able to help. He has a lot of mechanical experience."

"Do be realistic. I cannot ask a member of the family to repair the household boiler." She rolled her eyes to see how quickly his ridiculous propriety could return.

"Don't act so offended, it's not as outrageous as all that. He's also the agent. He works for this family and he won't mind." Mr. Carson seemed to be considering her suggestion. Mrs. Hughes pressed the point. "I could ask him, if you don't wish to do so."

"No. I can ask him." Mr. Carson insisted. "It is a good idea, Mrs. Hughes. Thank you."

As Mr. Carson headed upstairs, Mrs. Hughes returned to her own office and shut the door behind her. The past ten minutes had been a flurry of activity, and that was even if she ignored the boiler. He wanted to go to a concert with her! It hadn't exactly been a very romantic invitation, but she had seen his genuine regret at being denied the evening with her. Something was changing between them, Mrs. Hughes could feel it. And this time, she was sure it wasn't just her hopeful imagination telling her it was so.

An insistent knock wrapped madly at her door. She knew exactly who it would be. Mrs. Patmore bustled into the office, wiping her hands on her apron. "Well! Did you ask him?"

"No. I didn't get the chance." Mrs. Hughes admitted.

"That blasted boiler. Sometimes I wonder if Mr. Toby knows what he is doing." Mrs. Patmore lamented.

"Yes, the boiler was very disruptive, but that isn't why I didn't ask him." Mrs. Hughes said enigmatically.

"Well, why ever didn't you then?"

Mrs. Hughes paused just a moment before breaking the tension. "I didn't want to interrupt him when he was asking me."

The cook plopped unceremoniously into the nearest chair. "Well, I never."

"So he's never offered to escort you or Mrs. Butte to anything?" A terrible thought had occurred to her that the heads of household attending events together might be normal behavior in the London house.

"Not in all the years I've known him. That sea air must have affected him more than we thought."

A warm smile spread across Mrs. Hughes' face as she looked down at her friend, who was almost as excited by this development as she was herself. "I should have come to London years ago." The two women giggled like school girls.

"Right!" Mrs. Patmore declared, rising purposefully from the chair. "Let's get this boiler fixed."

"Mr. Toby told Mr. Carson he was not sure when he might be able to get by."

"That's because Mr. Carson doesn't know the code." Mrs. Patmore winked as she hurried into Mr. Carson's office. She picked up the phone. Shortly, she had Mr. Toby on the line. "It is such an inconvenience to be without our hot water, Mr. Toby. I've just made a large batch of berry cobbler for the staff and it is so difficult to clean up without hot water. I should hate to have to heat the water the old fashioned way... Thank you, we'll see you soon."

Mrs. Patmore smiled with satisfaction as she hung up the phone. "Wait until you meet Mr. Toby, thin as a rake, but the man never met a dessert he didn't like. I'll send him home with a nice tin of cobbler for the family but his children will be lucky if they see a bite of it." Mrs. Hughes stared at her friend in wonder. "We'll get that boiler fixed in time for tonight. I guarantee it."

"Beryl. I could kiss you." Elsie said, with grateful tears in her eyes.

"Get on with you!" Beryl laughed. "Save that nonsense for Mr. Carson."

TBC...

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**A/N Sorry for the cliffhanger yesterday. Hope you all had a safe and joyous New Year. Did you know that leaving a review is a hangover cure? Well, now you know.**


	8. Chapter 8

It was nearly half past five when Mr. Toby left Grantham House with his two dishes of cobbler and a promise to be back for pie tomorrow. Mr. Branson, Mr. Toby and Mr. Carson had spent two hours testing, fixing and cursing the boiler respectively. The boiler was currently limping along again, but the pump would need to be replaced very soon.

Mr. Carson and Mr. Branson stood beside over the sink, washing their coal and grease covered hands using gritty powdered soap. Both men had long since removed their jackets and rolled up their sleeves. The hot water in the sink ran black.

"Thank you for your assistance, Mr. Branson. You sped this job up considerably. Also, I've suspected that we needed a new boiler for some time, but Mr. Toby kept insisting we could just fix this one."

"Well, he's not wrong, you could keep patching this one together for ages; it's built like a tank. But I've been researching some of the new technology for the estate. I think it would be more cost effective in the long run to buy a whole new set up that will be much smaller and more easily maintained."

"As you no doubt heard, Mr. Toby will be bringing specifications and quotes by tomorrow. If you have time, I would appreciate your input."

"Certainly, Mr. Carson. If I may say, it was nice to get my hands dirty today. I am afraid that I find all this debutante business terribly boring."

"If it helps, as a widower with only a peripheral connection to Lady Rose, you aren't required to attend any events that you don't wish to. You wouldn't be missed." Mr. Carson cringed as he realized how his words had sounded.

"Thank you." Tom said flatly.

"I beg your pardon. I only meant that your role as a chaperone is superfluous. Lady Rose has quite enough family members looking out for her, so there is no reason for you to subject yourself to experiences that you find uninteresting."

"But Lady Rose and Lady Mary have wanted to stay late at every ball we've attended this week. Lord and Lady Grantham don't wish to stay that late. I thought I was needed to escort them home."

"That is very good of you, but not socially necessary. Lady Mary has been navigating the ballrooms of London for many seasons and she knows her way about. What is more, her status as a widow renders her an acceptable chaperone for Lady Rose."

"So, I don't have to stay in London?" Tom asked, hopefully.

"I shouldn't think so. Not if you don't wish to. Please don't think that I'm pushing you to leave, Mr. Branson, it's only that you seem…unimpressed by the Season."

"That's putting it mildly, Mr. Carson. I'd much rather be back at Downton. I almost returned with Lady Edith, but I thought…"

"You thought the family needed you here. So you stayed, despite your discomfort. That is commendable, but I am sure if you spoke to His Lordship, he would tell you the same. If you would prefer to return to Downton, then you should do so."

"Thank you, Mr. Carson. I'm not really sure how all this works. I appreciate your insight. I would very much like to return to Downton." Tom checked his hands. They were clean enough for a mechanic, but not clean enough for a formal dinner. He took another pinch of soap. "Is Mr. Barrow going back this week as well as Mrs. Hughes?"

"Yes. And I should tell you, I am aware of the incident concerning the car when you were leaving Downton. You should have informed me of his insolence; suggesting that he sit with you in the back."

"It was nothing, Mr. Carson. I handled it. It's over and done. I didn't think tattling would be a useful reaction. I guess Ivy didn't agree."

"She, rightfully, thought I should know. I've taken no action and I'll not carry things any further, but I must ask you to let me know if this behavior continues. I know you don't feel the need to assert your rights as a member of the family, but these sort of lapses are the thin end of the wedge." Mr. Carson was finally satisfied with his hands and began drying them on a kitchen towel.

"I promise to tell you if there are any further problems, Mr. Carson, if you promise not to overreact to them."

"Me? Overreact?" He handed Tom the towel with an ironic smile. "Impossible."

Tom could not think when he had seen Mr. Carson in such a generous mood. An idea flickered in his mind. "Mr. Carson, may I have a moment of your time; in private?"

"Just now?"

"If I might."

Mr. Carson checked his pocket watch. He had a few moments to spare. "Certainly. But you'll need to hurry if you are to have time to change for this evening."

"It won't be long. I just need a bit of guidance. You've reminded me that I don't know the rules to this life very well and…" Tom did not wish to continue in such a public setting. Mr. Carson understood.

"Let's adjourn to my office, Mr. Branson, and I'll see if I can help." Both men pulled on their jackets as they moved to the privacy of the butler's office.

Less than five minutes later, Mr. Carson was regretting his offer of assistance. Mr. Branson had just confessed that he was considering walking out with a Miss Bunting and was asking for advice as to how to proceed where the family was concerned.

"I really don't know the protocol for this. I gave her a tour of the house, but…"

"You what?" Mr. Carson could not contain his initial outburst, but swiftly recomposed himself. "That is, Downton is your home and you've every right to invite friends, but…it probably startled some of the servants."

"Thomas was the only one who saw her. We were up in the gallery…"

"You were where?" Mr. Carson knew he had overreacted again. Lady Sybil was not quite the surrogate daughter to him that Lady Mary was, but Mr. Carson had watched her grow from an exuberant child to an effervescent young lady. The idea that any woman would appeal to Mr. Branson after having achieved the love of Lady Sybil was not an easy one for him to accept. _And a teacher, no less! No, _Mr. Carson reminded himself_, a teacher is a perfectly acceptable match for Mr. Branson. _It was his marriage to Lady Sybil that had been inappropriate. "I am sorry. This is just…it is difficult for me…"

"I can see that. I don't see Lord Grantham taking it any better."

"No. No, I shouldn't think he will take it very well at all." But Mr. Carson felt bad for the lad. It had been three years now. It had been just half that time for Lady Mary and she was already entertaining suitors. He would be wrong to hold Mr. Branson to a different standard. "Not at first, at any rate. I take it things are becoming serious with this woman?"

"Nothing's become anything with her, Mr. Carson. I've been avoiding her because it's all so confusing."

"But you'd like to at least entertain the possibility?"

"Yes, but how can I do that at Downton without offending them all?"

"Though I am loathe to suggest it, perhaps it is time you moved into the estate agent's house. You will be under constant scrutiny from the family and the staff if you and Miss Sybbie remain at the Abbey."

"Lady Grantham will be very upset if I take Sybbie away."

"You're taking her to another house on the estate, not the moon. You could bring her to the big house during the day. Though, if you do end up moving, please don't mention to Her Ladyship that I had any hand in it." Mr. Carson added. "One thing is certain, you must be truthful with the family regarding this Miss Bunting as soon as you can be. If Mr. Barrow saw her, it's only a matter of time before they find out."

"That's just it. Lord Grantham already knows. So, he might read something into my asking to go back to Downton so soon."

"And would he be right?"

"Probably. There's certainly nothing for me here in London."

"I know what you mean." Mr. Carson said quietly.

"What?" The younger man asked.

"Nothing. You'll not be doing anyone any favors if you deny yourself a chance at happiness, Mr. Branson. If there is any way that I may assist you, do not hesitate to ask." Mr. Carson assured him. "Now, I believe you need to dress for your dinner out and I have matters that require my attention this evening."

"Yes, of course. Thank you, Mr. Carson. Thank you, very much."

Mrs. Hughes had been hovering impatiently outside the butler's office, wanting to confirm their plans for the evening. She had been trying to look nonchalant, and she thought she was doing an admirable job of it until she ran smack into Mr. Branson as he exited said office. "Ooof!" The collision briefly knocked the wind out of her.

"I am so sorry, Mrs. Hughes! Are you alright?"

She nodded to Mr. Branson and waved him on his way. Mr. Carson was now emerging from his office, a look of curiosity on his face. "Did you need something, Mrs. Hughes?"

"I was just confirming that the boiler was working." She said innocently.

"It is. Thank Heaven." Mr. Carson confirmed, noncommittally. After a few seconds, however, he did commit. "If you are still agreeable, I am now available to escort you to St. Columba's this evening."

"Oh, that? I had quite forgotten." She pretended not to have remembered. "Sure, why not? It sounds very enjoyable."

"I am glad you think so." Mr. Carson smirked at her affectation of disinterest. "The concert begins at half past seven. We should probably leave here by…seven?"

"That sounds about right." She agreed forcing her breathing to sound normal. "I shall meet you in the servant's hall at seven."

"Excellent. Oh, and I was hoping you would permit me to treat you to a light supper after. If you've no objection..."

"Even if I could think of an objection, Mr. Carson, I certainly would not be fool enough to tell you." And with that, she disappeared up the stairs to dress for their evening out.

TBC...

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**Sorry there was so much Mr. Branson and boiler talk, but I think it will be relevant later. We'll just have to see.**

**Tomorrow...THE DATE (Part One)!**


	9. Chapter 9

Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes were walking awkwardly up Sloane Street towards Pont Street and St. Columba's. They were not holding hands or even touching. The summer night felt inexplicably cool to her.

The conversation had taken a very serious turn. "It's difficult admitting when things just don't work." Mr. Carson was saying, sadly. "You think things can just continue as they are forever, or that they might even get better, though the evidence is against you. Even when things seem hopeless, even when every day is a fight, you don't want to admit defeat."

"But every day isn't a fight." She reminded him.

"No. There are good days. If I'm being honest; there are more good days than bad. But facts are facts, it's been worse lately. Still, I feel like we're just giving up."

"Sometimes giving up is the braver option." Mrs. Hughes admitted. "But please don't tell me you are getting sentimental over a boiler, Mr. Carson."

"Not by any means, but buying a new one is a huge undertaking; not to mention the expense."

"Perhaps we could talk about something else?" She offered. He'd been obsessing over the boiler for ever since they left Grantham House.

"I am sorry. You are right. We are both off work and outside the house and our conversation should reflect that." They walked half a block further in silence. Finding a topic that did not lead back to the family or household matters was more difficult than he would have thought. He might compliment how she looked this evening, but he had already done that several times, with varying success, and he was afraid he might start to sound like a nervous school boy or a creep.

There was no denying, the evening had gotten off to a rocky start. Mr. Carson was already in the servant's hall when Mrs. Hughes came down. In his nervous state, he had perhaps been overly officious about their evening in front of the few staff members who were about. He kept emphasizing that they were going to church.

She was frustrated enough in his behavior to reconsider joining him when he had finally come to his senses and tried to compliment her; right in the servant's hall, in front of Mr. Molesley, Miss Baxter and Mrs. Patmore! But it had not improved her disposition when the compliment he had managed was, "Thank you for being so prompt, Mrs. Hughes, but there was no need to rush."

"What makes you think I was rushed?" She asked, danger lurking just below the question's surface. But he was heedless of the peril and did not see Mrs. Patmore frantically shaking her head at him.

"Well, it's obvious. I can see that you were just by looking at you."

At this, Mrs. Hughes had almost marched right back upstairs, but Mrs. Patmore had saved the day yet again. "You mean her color is high from hurrying, don't you, Mr. Carson? Because you can't mean that she doesn't look very well put together."

His mortification that his innocent observation might have been misinterpreted as a criticism was immediately evident. "Yes! Yes, that is what I meant, I certainly did not mean… I mean, you look lovely, Mrs. Hughes and I only meant that you needn't have hurried down because I would have gladly waited."

If his apology had been any less desperate, she might still have retreated, but she could see his distress and her instinct to sooth and protect him overruled her injured pride. Mrs. Hughes had still not been entirely happy with him, but she knew that he was anxious and out of his element. She decided this was not a wrinkle to iron out in front of their coworkers. "I know how you hate to be late, Mr. Carson. I believe we should go."

Elsie and Beryl exchanged exasperated looks as Mr. Carson helped Elsie on with her light overcoat. As they left Grantham House she feared this was either going to be the longest night of her life or the longest night of his. Walking in silence now, she was convinced it was going to be both.

They hadn't spoken in over a minute. She sighed an enormous sigh, hoping he would take the hint. Thankfully, he did and he tried to reengage her in conversation. Why was this so hard? The two of them would often stay up to the late hours discussing anything but the household. Now that they were away from their cage and were free to discuss anything under the sun, he could not think of anything of interest. The truth was, he was having difficulty concentrating on anything but her proximity to him.

Unable to discuss the house behind them, Carson decided to talk about the church in front of them. "I understand the concert is for the same Russian Refuge fund for which you were collecting clothing. I trust the clothing drive was a success?

"I believe they did very well. I was able to contribute several items from the staff."

"It was very good of you to take the time. Not that generosity in you comes as any surprise."

Why was he acting so strangely, so distant? He was speaking to her as if they had just met, as though they had not known each other for twenty years. "They are still collecting if you have anything to contribute." She said, flatly.

He offered the first thing that came to him mind. "I don't suppose they could use a bathing costume?"

He realized immediately that she had stopped. He looked down at her, curiously. She was staring up at him with a bewildered look on her face. Suddenly, her laugh glittered through the night and closed the inexplicable distance between them. She took his arm naturally and they strolled onward. "It's not very likely, but thank you for the offer. Have you given up the sea forever then?"

"Not forever," He was enjoying the effects of his unintentional joke now. The unconscious barrier between them was well and truly gone. "But I think there might be civil action were I to wear that costume in public, so I was considering giving it up."

She sighed again, this time it was not a frustrated sigh, but rather a contented sigh as she imagined him wearing the bathing costume at the beach, holding her hand in the surf. "I don't know. No one was offended by any of the sea bathers at Brighton."

"How do you know? Maybe lots of people were offended but they just didn't want to say anything for fear of having to hold a conversation with someone wearing black underwear."

"That's the secret then, you just have to act like it's perfectly natural. And it wouldn't hurt to surround yourself people who were similarly attired."

"What are you suggesting?"

"I don't know if you observed the ladies' swim costumes," She asked, suggestively. "But they were just as ridiculous as the men's."

"I did not observe _either _very closely, Mrs. Hughes. Nor, I hope, did you." His outrage was not genuine.

"I'll never tell."

The night suddenly felt warmer. Their words and their steps were light and easy. This is what she had been expecting. His guard was down. She hoped to take the opportunity to learn more about this enigmatic man that she had loved for years.

"Tell me, when did you develop an appreciation for traditional Scottish hymns?"

"The vicar before Mr. Travers was not so decidedly English. He would lead us in some selections from the Scottish psalter on the odd Sunday. I liked that they were different from our usual hymns. The melodies were as repetitive as the usual songs, but the words weren't. It made for a nice change."

"And have you a favorite?"

"There's always 'The Church's One Foundation' but everyone knows that one. I've always liked Psalm 65- God in Nature.

O God of our salvation, thou, in thy righteousness,

By fearful works unto our pray'rs thine answer dost express:

Therefore the ends of all the earth,

and those afar that be

Upon the sea, their confidence,

O Lord, will place in thee.

Who, being girt with pow'r, sets fast

by his great strength the hills.

Who noise of seas, noise of their waves,

and people's tumult, stills.

Those in the utmost parts that dwell

are at thy signs afraid:

Th' outgoings of the morn and ev'n

by thee are joyful made."

She was impressed by his recitation. "You actually know them by heart?"

"Some of them. Why are you surprised?" He asked. "You didn't think I was making this all up as an excuse to accompany you, did you?"

"Well…" She was embarrassed to admit that she had thought he was exaggerating his interest in the musical portion of their evening.

"Because I would have." He assured her. "But, thankfully, I did not have to. I've a great appreciation for many things Scottish, Mrs. Hughes."

"I am glad to hear it." She blushed as she teased him. "I should warn you, most of the people there this evening will probably be Scottish."

"They won't be hostile towards me because I'm English, do you think?" He tried to sound concerned.

"They are mostly friendly. Some of them are decidedly anti-English, but we shall have to risk it. Unless you can affect a passable Scots accent."

"Oh, aye, I thunk I moight a' tha'. Yuv noight to fea', muh wee lass."

A painful fit of laughter overtook her. She grabbed his arm to keep from falling. "St. Andrew, deliver us! What was _that?_"

"Thot's me Sco'ish agcent."

"No, that is not _anyone's_ Scottish accent. That…_that_ is an abomination of language."

"It wasn't that bad. Was it?" He was genuinely hurt and this made her laugh all the harder.

"It was that bad, and then some, Mr. Carson. And you were on the stage?"

"I was a singer and dancer, not an actor."

"Oh, I can well believe you were no actor." She wiped an hysterical tear from the corner of her eye. "Please just do not try that again. If someone in the church hears you, they'll run us both out of London on a rail."

"Very well, I shall remain English." Though he still thought his accent had not been as horrendous as she asserted.

"Besides, why would you want to alter the voice that God gave you? Even if it isn't Scottish, your voice is one of my favorite sounds." She admitted without embarrassment.

"I could name a whole household of people who would disagree with you."

"Yes, well, they are not here tonight." Elsie said, meaningfully.

Carson smiled happily as she shifted her grip on his arm in order to lace her fingers with his. Now that things were going so well, they were both disappointed to find they had reached their destination.

TBC…

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**A/N You knew it couldn't go swimmingly from the start. This is Charles Carson we are dealing with, after all. Let me know what you think so far... More Tomorrow.  
**


	10. Chapter 10

"What do you mean, 'Sold Out'?" Mr. Carson was incredulous. "A child with flyers was practically begging for punters this morning at the train station."

"He must'a done a good job." The man at the ticket desk just inside the large wooden doors said, not very helpfully. The church's foyer was packed with people, but Carson didn't think it looked like a capacity crowd.

"Here." Mr. Carson dropped a few shillings onto the desk.

"What's this?" The man looked insulted. "I'm not some git at a restaurant that you can bribe for a table, _sir._"

"You are raising money for a charity, are you not? That is for the refugees, not for you." Carson informed him before turning back into the crowd to find Mrs. Hughes. She had been waylaid by a pack of acquaintances upon their arrival. Mr. Carson found that he was not very upset to find the concert sold out. He hoped Mrs. Hughes would feel the same.

"Mr. Carson!" A strong, Scottish voice, which was not Mrs. Hughes', cut through the noisy crowd. He followed the voice to the woman standing next to Mrs. Hughes, who was looking mortified by the scene her friend had just caused.

"Mr. Carson, this is Mrs. Giles." Mrs. Giles grabbed Mr. Carson's hand and shook it emphatically. She was obviously the alpha female of the pack. "She spearheaded the clothing drive. I was just telling her that you might have a contribution." Mrs. Hughes was gratified to see his face color slightly, but Mr. Carson did not let her attempt to tease him interfere with his manners.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Giles. Mrs. Hughes speaks very highly of this church's generous community." Mr. Carson turned to Mrs. Hughes. "A community that has managed to sell out the concert. I am afraid we will have to find some other way to fill our evening, Mrs. Hughes."

The smile she returned upon receiving this news told Mr. Carson that she was not at all disheartened by the prospect. His heart skipped a beat as he began to consider the myriad of possibilities offered them by a Friday night in the London Season.

"Oh, but I've some extra tickets, Mrs. Hughes. I always buy extras, just to help the cause." Mrs. Giles interjected into his mind that was all a flutter with new plans for the evening. "You and Mr. Carson are welcome to two of them. All I ask is that you make a small donation to the fund."

Unable to decline this kind offer, Mr. Carson headed back to the desk and the grumpy ticket non-salesman. "Don't ask," he told the confused man as he placed four shillings on the table and walked back to the ladies at the main door.

Having paid for their tickets twice, Mr. Carson now found that he didn't really wish to attend the concert at all. He wanted to talk to Mrs. Hughes all night in a dark corner of a pub or restaurant with just enough light that he could see her smile and just enough noise that they would each have to lean in close to hear the other speak.

The interior of the church was almost as packed as the foyer. Once again, Mrs. Giles took control and ushered them down to a pew midway down the aisle. The seats were filling quickly. Nodding apologetically to the short man in the pew directly behind him, Mr. Carson sat where he was bid, sandwiched between Mrs. Giles and the high wooden end of the pew. Mrs. Hughes was on the other side of Mrs. Giles. Unable to rescue him, she smiled reassuringly to Mr. Carson as the bossy woman talked animatedly to him about the plight of the Russians.

He took his kidnapping in stride until he saw an opportunity. "Miss, you must take my seat." He offered quickly to a bent and ancient woman who was walking slowly down the side aisle, scanning for a place to sit.

"I thank ye, lad. And me old bones thank ye." The woman accepted gratefully.

"I'll go stand in the back, ladies." Mr. Carson informed Mrs. Giles and Mrs. Hughes, offering the former a small bow and the latter a rueful half smile.

A handful of other late comers and gallant gentlemen were standing in the back of the church. Carson took his place with these as the choir began to funnel in. Someone handed him a psalter, which he opened and leafed through, disheartened. This was not exactly the evening he had envisioned. _Who asks a woman to a date at a church?_ He rebuked himself. It had taken being separated from her for him to realize that he did,indeed consider this a date.

The pedal tones of the organ began to sound and the final arrivals took the seats that were saved for them or joined the small crowd in the back. There weren't too many of them in the back, so Mr. Carson was surprised when someone was standing inappropriately close to his right side. Before he could say anything, a small, feminine hand reached out and took hold of one side of the psalter. Mr. Carson was about to pull away and relinquish the book entirely when he recognized that hand.

"Mrs. Hughes. How did you come to lose your seat?"

"I offered it to another old lady."

"That was very kind of you, but I wish you would not refer to yourself as old."

She could not resist jabbing him in the side with her elbow. "I wasn't. I meant a second lady, like the one you offered your seat to, arrived."

"Oh, yes, that makes sense too."

He did not see the infinitesimal shake of her head as the music leader took the podium and announced the first hymn… "Psalm 147. Praise Ye the Lord, For He is Good."

He held the book as she leafed through the pages. After finding the correct spot, she took hold of her side of the psalter and he dropped his right hand, allowing her to step closer to him as they shared the book between them. The back of her shoulder was touching his chest, conducting the rumbles of his voice down the length of her body. Thoughts most inappropriate for the setting flooded her mind.

Mr. Carson was glad that he recognized the first few hymns. He was able to fumble through the words and tunes well enough that she never suspected how distracted he was by her closeness. To him, the spot on his chest where her shoulder leaned against him felt like a point of radiating heat. With every inhale he could smell a light scent of lavender which could only be coming from her. He was becoming very light headed.

Carson had lost count, but after the third or fourth song, a church elder stood forward to offer a prayer for peace and for comfort for refugees all over the world. The next song was "Scots Wha Hae". Not even halfway through the first stanza, people began to rise to their feet. Under the cover of the commotion caused by the congregation rising and singing what many considered their national anthem, Mrs. Hughes tugged at Mr. Carson's sleeve. With a motion of her head, she mouthed the words, "Let's go." He did not need to be asked twice.

They left the psalter in the foyer and slipped unheeded out of the church onto Pont Street. "It was turning a little nationalistic in there. I was afraid they might remember you were English."

"So we left for my sake? I thought you were worried that I would discover your secret." He adjusted his hat on his head before holding his hand out to her, pleased by how natural it felt to do so.

"What secret is that?" She took his hand in hers, thrilled to note that he had made the offer of a hand this time.

"Perhaps Mr. Branson isn't the only rebel at Downton."

"He certainly isn't the only one whose country is occupied by the English. Have I blown my cover as a Scottish spy?"

"Your cover was blown a long time ago. I've had you pegged as a dangerous revolutionary for some time."

"Oh? What gave me away?"

"The toaster." Laughing, he squeezed her hand. "Speaking of toast, are you hungry? I know a little place."

"Lead on, Mr. Carson. I'm all yours this evening." _This evening and always._

TBC...

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**A/N I hope you are enjoying the fluff. I'm not sure how much longer Charles can go without flubbing it up.**


	11. Chapter 11

Elsie Hughes felt like she was walking on air. She had floated contentedly at his side as they passed through Belgravia and on to Piccadilly on the north side of the Palace Gardens and Green Park. She had walked these streets during the daytime, but never at night. The city streets were just as alive with people and buses and vendors and cabs as they had been in the daylight, but the lights of the buildings and vehicles gave the streets an aura of the fantastical. Elsie felt like a child who had followed the fairy lights to a new and magical world. It was so thrilling it might have been frightening, but for the strong and sure presence by her side.

As they walked, they spoke of their London experiences. She had spent one season in London as a Lady's maid before taking her post as head housemaid at Downton. "My mistress was a very demanding woman. I was responsible for her and her daughter, who was coming out that season. I didn't have much free time. And I certainly never walked the London streets this late. I was respectable back then."

"You are respectable _now_." He reminded her, smiling broadly.

"Am I? That's too bad."

Charles Carson had initially planned to take her to a pub that he knew near Leicester Square, but his plans had changed as they walked. He saw how her eyes followed the sights and sounds of the London night. The charms of London had long paled for him, but it was still new and exciting for her. He wanted to give her the perfect evening. He still tingled to remember her words, _'I am all yours this evening.'_ Charles knew this night was important to her. He promised himself she would not regret placing her trust in him.

Elsie was surprised when Charles led them off Piccadilly onto St. James Street. She had assumed they would continue walking up to Piccadilly Circus and on to Covent Gardens. She knew it was one of his favorite places in London.

For the first time she questioned him. "Where are we going?"

"To my favorite restaurant."

"A restaurant? Not a pub?"

"No, a restaurant. I only hope they have a table available at such short notice." They took the first left onto Jermyn Street.

"But we are not dressed properly for a restaurant."

"_I_ am not dressed properly." He admitted. "But a beautiful lady is welcome anywhere. If I may say so, this evening you are lovely enough to command a table at the Savoy."

A compliment like this was something she had wanted desperately from him all night. Now that it had been given, Elsie was surprised to find herself embarrassed at his words. To hide her discomfiture, she tried to make light of his praise. "You see? Was that so difficult?"

"I am sorry about earlier. I don't do very well with an audience. Even when Grigg and I were performing, I would get the most awful stage fright. Eventually, that would pass and I'd come round right when it mattered."

"I am sure you did."

They'd reached their destination and Charles motioned her towards a dark oak door beside an unassuming arched window. Simple, understated gold lettering announced, 'Wiltons Restaurant'. Her eyes grew large. She recognized the name; it was one of His Lordship's favorite restaurants. Before she could protest that this was too fine a place for two servants, they were through the door and Charles was speaking to the maître d'hotel. The man was as large and imposing as the front of the restaurant was small and inconspicuous. He was broader and taller than Charles, with light brown hair. He looked to be in his forties. Elsie was shocked as she listened to their conversation.

"Of course, Mr. Carson, we have your usual table available. I could provide you with a coat and white tie, but I don't think it's necessary tonight. We are a rather casual house this evening."

"Why is that?"

"We had a good theatre crowd earlier, but we are slow now. Some countess whoseywhatsit is having her ball tonight. Everyone who is anyone was invited. Anyone who wasn't invited doesn't want to be seen anywhere else tonight."

"Yes, our family is there tonight which is why we have the evening off."

"I was beginning to wonder if you were going to visit us this Season."

"The Season isn't over. We've been very busy with Lady Rose's presentation and ball."

"I heard it was quite the success. His Majesty the Prince of Wales attended, they say."

"I've no idea how that was managed, but it was a very great honor."

"A royalist like you must have felt like a child at Christmas."

"It was a very great honor." Carson repeated, noncommittally. "It is also a great honor for me to introduce you to my companion. Mr. Laramie, I am pleased to present Mrs. Hughes. Mrs. Hughes, allow me to present Mr. Laramie."

Elsie nodded demurely and offered her hand. Mr. Laramie took it gallantly and bowed. "Enchanted to meet you, Mrs. Hughes." For a moment, it looked as though he was going to kiss her hand.

"Easy now." Mr. Carson warned the younger man.

"My apologies, Mr. Carson. If you will allow me to take your coat, Mrs. Hughes, I shall show you to your table."

Once more, Elsie found herself swept along in a daze. She walked through a room that was no finer than any room at Downton or Grantham House, but the elegance felt foreign to her and more than a little intimidating. This was a place where she was not in control. She was not housekeeper here. She was used to being a part of the hustle and bustle behind the scenes. All she could see here was the calm and class of the final product. Mr. Carson looked at home here. Even wearing his simple suit rather than his tails, he looked as though he belonged amongst the obviously wealthy patrons sprinkled about the small restaurant. Someone would easily mistake him for a country squire. She felt small and frumpy in comparison.

Mr. Laramie led them to a small table in a small alcove of the restaurant. The maitre 'd hotel held her chair for her as she sat. A waiter hurried over and likewise held Mr. Carson's chair for him. It was a surreal moment for Elsie, to be treated with such deference. Charles smiled reassuringly at her. She was starting to feel more comfortable being treated like a true lady. The way he looked at her made Elsie feel that she deserved it.

Mr. Laramie bowed gracefully and indicated their waiter. "I shall leave you in Johnathan's capable hands. If there is anything either of us can do to improve your experience, please do not hesitate to ask."

"Thank you." Mr. Carson said, dismissing their host and turning to their waiter.

The waiter handed them two handwritten menus with today's date lovingly scrolled across the top. "Good evening, Mr. Carson. It is nice to see you again, sir."

"Thank you, Johnathan; I hope life is treating you well."

"I cannot complain."

"Johnathan, may I introduce you to Mrs. Hughes?"

"_The_ Mrs. Hughes?" The waiter looked duly impressed. "I've heard so much about you, Mrs. Hughes. It is an honor."

Elsie looked at Charles questioningly. "And how is that you have come to hear so much about me?"

"Johnathan worked for Lady Rosamund before the war. He is still in contact with many of the current staff there and the Grantham House staff, all of whom greatly respect you." Charles explained.

Elsie nodded humbly at this explanation and looked with dismay at the menu in front of her. It was strange for her to have to choose what she wanted for supper. Usually she ate whatever was set before her without a thought. Elsie discovered that she rather liked not having to choose what she ate. Here there was the pressure of ordering the wrong thing and looking stupid. She was used to planning menus, not ordering from them. Her professional assessment of this menu was very favorable; it offered a wide variety of game and seafood. She also noted that there were no prices on the menu, which she took as a bad sign.

Charles saw that she was overwhelmed by the choices and turned to the waiter for assistance. "Do you have any recommendations from tonight's menu? His Lordship spoke very highly of the pheasant the last time he dined here."

"Alas, there is no pheasant today. Beyond that, I cannot be of much help, it's all excellent, as always, Mr. Carson. Shall I fetch you some wine while you are perusing the menu?"

"Yes, please. If I am not mistaken, there should be a bottle of the '21 claret in Lord Grantham's locker."

"Very good." The waiter bowed swiftly and left.

Elsie looked terrified. "We cannot drink His Lordship's wine."

"Why not? We drink his wine all the time." Charles said, logically.

"We drink their leftovers, we don't just walk in and open whatever wine we like. Won't he miss it the next time they come here?"

"I shall send more bottles tomorrow. The locker was almost empty and I was going to have to handle that soon, regardless. I've not taken my allotment from the last wine order, so it will all even out. Rest assured, we won't be stealing any wine, Mrs. Hughes." He reached across and cover her hand where it lay on the crisp, white tablecloth to assure her.

His warm touch helped her relax and she smiled across the table at him. She finally began to truly take in her surroundings. There were fewer than twenty tables in the restaurant which was narrow and darkly lit. The furnishings were spare but fine, creating the atmosphere of casual wealth. It was comfortable but clearly elite. She had never been a patron in a place as fine as this. The best hotel in York looked like a stable by comparison.

_I could get used to this,_ she thought, feeling like a titled Lady holding her Lord's hand.

TBC...

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**A/N I am making rather a meal out of this...meal, so we'll have another chapter at the restaurant tomorrow. Just thinking about writing the next chapter is making me hungry. **

**Your lovely reviews have been overwhelming and I had no time this weekend to respond, so I am issuing a general 'Thank You' and I hope this update will serve as an adequate answer to your encouragements. We'll postpone the flubbing things up for a few more chapters, shall we?  
**


	12. Chapter 12

**FYI. Fanfic is acting up, so I've deleted and reposted this so there would be notifications sent.**

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Johnathan returned shortly with the wine, presenting the label for Mr. Carson's approval. As he uncorked the bottle he smiled warmly at Mrs. Hughes. "We're all so glad that Mr. Carson has brought you, Mrs. Hughes."

"And why is that, Johnathan?"

"Usually he sits where you are and watches us all like a hawk. It makes the wait staff quite nervous, we feel as though we are being judged. I believe Mr. Laramie seated him with his back to the restaurant on purpose."

"That purpose was so other patrons would see Mrs. Hughes' lovely visage rather than my own." Charles informed the waiter. "And I am not judging. I observe of professional curiosity, nothing more. His Lordship holds this establishment in high esteem and I like to keep tabs on the competition. If there are new serving standards, I must make myself aware of them. Of course there are publications for this, but I like to see things in practice before adopting them for Downton." Johnathan poured a small sample of wine into Mr. Carson's glass.

"Should you rather sit here, Mr. Carson, so you can have a better view?" Elsie offered.

Charles sipped the wine and gave a nod of approval. The waiter filled their glasses expediently. "I have no complaints regarding my view, Mrs. Hughes." His view improved in his estimation as she colored at his compliment.

"And have you had sufficient time to make your selections?" Johnathan prompted gently.

Mrs. Hughes realized that she had not made any decisions regarding her meal. She looked to Charles and gave him a look of mild distress.

"Shall I order for us both?" Charles offered.

"Thank you, I would like that very much."

Charles handed his menu to Johnathan without looking at it again. "Tell Mr. Kirkpatrick that we are in his hands this evening. Small plates, a little tasting menu, whatever strikes his fancy."

"Very good. He will enjoy that challenge, it being a slow night."

"Make sure he knows that we are in no hurry and that I am very keen to impress Mrs. Hughes." Charles winked at her teasingly. She blushed even more deeply, but laughed. The waiter read between the lines and understood that he was being told that money was no object.

As they sipped their wine, Elsie still felt guilty. "Are you sure about the wine?"

"They won't dine here for at least another week. I've plenty of time to set things right, don't give it another thought." He unconsciously stroked her hand.

"Do you think they'll dine here many more times this Season?" She didn't want to ask the question directly, but she could not help wondering.

Charles understood exactly what she was asking. She wanted him to speculate on how much longer the family would remain in London this Season. "They don't dine in restaurants more than once every few weeks, but I am sure they will dine here at least once more before returning to York; maybe twice. With Lady Rose being the new darling of London society, they will likely stay at Grantham House another month at least." He sighed. "We don't even have the trip to Duneagle to force us to leave before August this year."

"You can't think they might stay on to the 12th? That's over six weeks!" She realized how distressed she sounded and hurried to cover her tracks. "We've never had the garden party after July."

"Maybe Lady Rose will find a husband and settle down quickly." He offered. Her look showed that she believed in that as much as he did. "Or maybe they'll leave her with Lady Rosamund and close up Grantham House well before the Season ends, but that seems a slim hope. Especially with Lady Mary entertaining her suitors."

She tried to shake off this unwelcome news by changing the subject. "Do you really sit here and stare at the poor wait staff?"

"I don't stare. Well, I probably do stare, but I'm not searching for errors. I like to watch efficiency and order in action, it relaxes me. Besides, what else am I to look at when I'm dining alone?"

"But you must enjoy catching them out every now and then. You must admit that you do love your rules."

"What would life be without rules?"

"I assume it would be 'The Chaos of Gomorrah' as you like to say." She joked, but then asked him in a more serious tone, "I know rules matter, but they seem to matter more to you than to anyone I've ever known. I'd like to understand why."

He thought for a bit. How could he make her understand how he saw the matter? Most people simply laughed at him for his unbending adherence to rules, but she was honestly asking to understand and he would try to help her. _If anyone could understand, it was Elsie._ When had he begun to think of her as 'Elsie'?

"Do you see this wine?" He held up his glass, swirling it in the candlelight. She nodded. "This wine began as grape juice in a vat, and then a barrel. Then it was in a bottle and now it is in this glass."

"Thank you for the wine making lesson, but what has that to do with rules?"

"All of those containers are boundaries like the rules which delineate our society. If any one of the containers that once held this wine was compromised, there wouldn't be any wine for us to enjoy. What if, instead of a bottle, they had poured it from the barrel into a paper bag? Would it taste the same? Or what if they poured it directly onto the table cloth rather than into a glass? It would only be a stain. Boundaries give us definition and outline our purpose. They preserve society for the enjoyment of all."

"But being consumed and enjoyed is this wine's purpose, not sitting in a bottle or a glass."

"It could never be enjoyed if it weren't for the bottle and the glass."

"But there comes a point where it has to leave those confines in order to be fully appreciated. Rules are necessary things, but they aren't the only things. Society needs structure, I completely agree, but what about those who think beyond the boundaries? What about the dreamers? Doesn't humanity need those as well?"

"For every legitimate genius who changes the world there are thousands of worthless dreamers who never contribute anything to society." He said with a bitterness that startled them both. He tried to soften his manner before continuing. "You and I are pragmatic people, Mrs. Hughes. We contribute to the world we inhabit. We may only be cogs in a great machine, but anyone who knows about machines will tell you that cogs are important."

"You are assuming that the machine is important."

"Society is the machine and yes, I do believe it is important. It does not make for an exciting life, but I like to think it is a productive life. More productive than most dreamers, as you call them, can claim."

"You don't have much respect for dreamers, do you?"

"No." He said shortly.

"Why?"

He paused before answering in an almost whisper, but the low volume could not hide the pain in his voice. "My father was a dreamer and a more worthless man never drew breath. Can we please leave it at that?"

Elsie did not know what to say to this. She had never once heard Charles mention his father. She knew a very little about his mother, but his father was a complete mystery.

They were rescued from this uncomfortable moment by the arrival of the first course; small salads of summer greens with blue cheese and walnuts and topped with a warm bacon dressing. Accompanying this was a small selection of oysters on the half shell presented with horseradish and lemon.

The recent unpleasantness was forgotten as quickly as a cloud that passes over the sun. They both devoted their full attention cheerfully to the meal, which turned out to be a journey full of culinary revelations. Every few minutes a new set of plates would arrive with two or three morsels of delicately crafted food. Each plate seemed designed to stimulate a different part of the palate. The food was rich and satisfying, but did not make one feel overfull. Johnathan always gave a faithful description of the food, but, by the fifth round of plates, Elsie found she could not concentrate on what he was saying because she was so keen to try the food. Most of the conversation now was about how amazing and complex the meal was. She did not notice when the second bottle of wine was opened.

Partially through the meal, Mr. Kirkpatrick himself came out to chat with them about the food.

"I had to see if the reports of your beauty were true, Mrs. Hughes. I am certainly not disappointed." The chef schmoozed effortlessly. Charles fixed him with a whimsical but warning glare. "I am humbled that Mr. Carson finally thought our restaurant was worthy of sharing with a guest. Now I see he was simply waiting for a worthy companion. I trust you have found the meal to your liking?"

Elsie was absolutely basking in this overabundance of attention and flattery. Usually, she would have made some remark to put a stop to such silliness, but tonight, it felt natural to be praised and to accept that praise gracefully. "If you tell Mrs. Patmore, I shall deny it, Mr. Kirkpatrick, but this is the most perfectly exquisite food I have ever tasted. What you did with that boar was…well, I never appreciated all the flavors in the meat before. I could taste the acorns! Mrs. Patmore is an excellent cook, but you, sir, are amazing."

"I know Mrs. Patmore's reputation and I am aware of the honor of such favorable comparison." Mr. Kirkpatrick humbly responded but he was obviously touched by her compliment.

The chef then inquired of Mr. Carson after a common acquaintance. Charles gave a short answer, clearly wanting the chef to head back to the kitchen where he belonged. Elsie took the opportunity to excuse herself. Charles rose as she stood and Mr. Kirkpatrick held her chair. She had always wanted to see a powder room in such a posh establishment. She had told Charles as much earlier in the meal. Obviously referring to this, he said with exaggerated seriousness, "I shall expect a full report of the powder room."

"Indeed? A full report?" She teased him. This flustered him no end as Mr. Kirkpatrick guffawed loudly.

"Of the room, not of… oh, dear…what I meant….well, you know what I meant…" He stammered after her retreating figure. For she had beat a hasty retreat, knowing she could not remain facing him any longer without bursting into laughter, which would mortify him.

Just before she turned towards the washrooms, she heard the chef give way to his mirth entirely and looked back over her shoulder to see him give Charles a great slap on the back and congratulate him, "Smooth, Charlie. Real smooth."

When she returned from the powder room, the chef was gone and her napkin was neatly refolded at the place setting. The table looked as though they had yet to be served, save for the wine. Her professional eye was impressed. _No wonder Charles likes this place so much. _She could not say when she had begun to think of him as 'Charles'. She knew how dangerous it was to open herself up to thoughts and hopes of such familiarity with him, but it was impossible to consider anything rationally at the moment. Not when there was a chance to tease him mercilessly about the powder room report comment.

"Should you like the report in writing or would a verbal report be sufficient?" She asked after Johnathan had seated her and replaced her napkin on her lap.

"No report is necessary. I believe I've let the food and wine go to my head, Mrs. Hughes. I am sorry if my comments embarrassed you."

"You were the only one who was embarrassed. Mr. Kirkpatrick and I were thoroughly entertained. Perhaps the wine has affected me as well, because I think I would prefer it if you called me 'Elsie'."

"I would be honored." Charles answered honestly. "But then you must call me 'Charles'."

"I think I can manage that." She smiled as the next course arrived.

TBC…

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**A/N There was a little bump in the road here, but it didn't derail them...yet. **

**I really didn't intend for the meal to take this long, but is there anything better than a long, leisurely meal in good company? Thank you for reviewing and reading, it really does mean the world to me.  
**


	13. Chapter 13

**FYI, Fanfiction was updating strangely yesterday, so you may have missed Chapter 12, which was the 'meat' of the dinner, so to speak. Judging by the views, about half of you missed it. Just wanted to warn you...  
**

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It was well past eleven when the last course arrived; a small plate of sorbets and petit fours served with strong coffee. Elsie tried not to let the disappointment of the approaching end to their evening sour the delicately crafted dessert. Instead, she decided to fix the memory permanently in her mind. She closed her eyes as she took the last bite of a miniature caramel and chocolate trifle. After focusing on the flavors, she smelled the coffee and listened carefully to the near empty restaurant. A few patrons were laughing and she could hear their spoons as they stirred lumps of sugar into their coffee. It was a rich and leisurely sound. She slowly opened her eyes, scanning the scene, drinking in the dense elegance. Her eyes finally shifted back to their corner of the restaurant and her lovely companion. She felt a warmth wash through her that was only partially attributable to the wine.

Charles had a dopey grin on his face, as he sat sipping his coffee and watching her enjoying the experience. His face had a permanent flush to it from the wine. Several errant curls popped randomly out from his hair, which looked almost as relaxed as she felt. She knew the grin on her face must match his for soppiness. "You look very pleased with yourself, Charles."

The way she trilled his name made his spine shiver. She was right; he _was_ very proud of himself. His goal to show her a memorable evening in London had been met and exceeded. The fact that he had been able to show her off to some of his London acquaintances had just been a convenient bonus. "I am just glad that you are happy, Elsie."

"Then you should be _very_ glad, Charles, for I am _very _happy."

Elsie noticed that tenants of the only other occupied table were pushing back their chairs and rising. Her coach was about to turn into a pumpkin. Johnathan approached the table deferentially and cleared away the dessert plates with a quiet efficiency and returning almost immediately.

"Time to close up shop?" Charles asked.

"I'm afraid so, Mr. Carson." The waiter smoothly slipped an elegant leather folder the size of a legal envelope onto the table.

Charles gave the bill a cursory, almost disinterested look and reached for his wallet. "Please tell Mr. Kirkpatrick that he outdid himself tonight. And keep an eye out for that wine tomorrow." He slipped several bank notes quickly, with a practiced ease, into the folder. Elsie tried not to stare, but she was very curious exactly how much the bill had come to. She was only able to see that at least one of the notes was a crisp ten. Charles did not seem to bat an eye while dropping what was probably a month's wages onto the table. Elsie mused that attitude was almost as important a commodity as cash in this lofty, posh world. All one had to do to appear rich was spend one's last farthing as though it didn't matter. She'd learned that in the powder room when she'd nonchalantly dropped a sixpence into the attendant's tip dish and felt like a queen.

The bill disappeared as mysteriously as it had arrived and was never directly mentioned between the two men. Johnathan moved to Elsie's chair and helped her back from the table. Another, unnamed waiter attended to Charles' chair as he rose. "It was a pleasure seeing you again, Mr. Carson. And I hope next Season you will be able to visit us again, Mrs. Hughes."

"I hope so too, Johnathan." Elsie replied with great enthusiasm. "This has been a most pleasurable evening. Please give my compliments to the chef."

"I shall do that, Ma'am."

At the front door, Mr. Laramie greeted them with wishes for many happy returns and Elsie's coat. Elsie could not help but frown as Mr. Laramie helped her into her coat. Charles noticed, but waited until they were outside before asking what was wrong.

"This has all been so lovely, Charles. I am only disappointed that the evening will be over soon."

"It doesn't have to be over. Not yet. Not if you don't want it to be."

"They are kicking us out of the restaurant and all the pubs are closed. The parks are all locked for the night and it would be unseemly to wander the streets." She pointed out, logically.

"The pubs are closed, yes. But English ingenuity has devised a way around the liquor laws. There are these lovely places called clubs, where members may drink whenever they like."

"And are you a member of any such club? Because I certainly am not."

"No, but we both soon shall be. The beauty of the late night clubs is you may join at anytime and membership is usually very reasonable. The hard part is finding them and Mr. Kirkpatrick has given me an address for a club near Berkeley Square, just a few blocks away." He held up a small card as evidence. "If you would like to extend the evening, Elsie, I would be more than happy to escort you there."

Her smile and the enthusiastic way she took hold of his arm were all the answer he needed. They began to walk back towards St. James Street.

"So, you're admitting that it's acceptable to ignore some rules?" She teased as they crossed Piccadilly at Berkley Street.

"We shall be adhering to the letter of the law, if not the spirit. Outsmarting a law is not the same as ignoring it."

"That is a slippery slope, Charles. Next stop, Gomorrah."

"No, I believe the club is called 'The Jeweled Nightingale'."

She giggled at his deliberately misunderstanding her. "That sounds fancy."

"Mr. Kirkpatrick said that I would be acceptable in my suit, so I am assuming it is a working class club. I wish I were in my white tie and could take you somewhere really nice."

"I am sure it will be just fine. Is it a jazz club?"

"I didn't think to ask, but there are not very many late night baroque clubs left, so the chances are good." She pinched his arm as punishment for his cheek.

They strolled leisurely up Berkeley Street towards the eponymous square.

"Elsie? May I say that I am glad you wore the scarf from the beach?"

"I wasn't sure you had noticed. You have excellent taste. Daisy says it is very flattering and that the blue matches my eyes."

He paused under a lamp post to inspect her. "Yes, I suppose it does. I did not realize that when I bought it. I only knew that I liked the color and I could picture how well it would look on you. And I was rushed because you were walking away from me in a bit of a temper."

"Well, you did a fine job of choosing under such duress."

"I should have been hard pressed to find something that would not be flattering on you. It's like being asked to find a frame for the Mona Lisa. Unless you have the worst taste in the world, you can hardly go wrong."

Her laugh echoed through Berkeley Square as they turned onto Charles Street.

"Oh!" She exclaimed as she noticed the street name. "It's never on Charles Street!" She was inexplicably tickled by this coincidence.

"As it happens, it is. What of it?" Her mirth confused but pleased him.

"Now I _know_ this is all a dream. I am actually asleep back in Yorkshire and dreaming of the most perfect two days possible. But my brain has run out of names for things and from here on, everything will just be called 'Charles'." She could not help but giggle again. "I bet the only song the band will know is the Charleston!"

"What a silly notion. I think it's coffee for you for the rest of the evening, Elsie." Charles chuckled as he checked the address on the card and led her up a set of stairs to a house that looked like every other house on the block.

"This cannot be right. Surely Mr. Kirkpatrick is playing a joke on you. We are going to wake up some poor servant…" But Charles had already rung.

Indeed, Elsie's worst fears were confirmed when a grim faced butler opened the door and glowered at them. He was not quite as tall as Charles, but he was darker and looked like he smiled even less than Charles did. His face was as unreadable as a stone statue. Elsie released Charles' arm but held his hand. She was preparing herself to run in the event the man called for the police, which he was certain to do.

Charles handed him the card and a folded bank note and said, "Hans sent me."

To Elsie's astonishment, the man stepped aside and motioned for them to enter. Charles felt her grip on his hand tighten as he pulled into a world the like of which she had never seen.

TBC...

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**A/N I have a bit of extra credit for you, but it won't take long and it is completely optional.** **If you want a soundtrack to this chapter and the next, you can listen to Vera Lynn's version of A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square on youtube. It's been stuck in my head for days and I wanted to include it in the story, but it was not written until 1939. I think it perfectly captures the magical and ethereal quality of their date that I am trying to convey. The song does it better. Frank Sinatra's version is nice too, but I prefer Dame Vera's.**

**Otherwise, thanks for reading and I'll see ya tomorrow.**

**ETA, I am not complaining about the Fanfiction dot net glitches. They are obviously trying to upgrade something (or our Chelsie love has crashed the system) and they do an awesome job which we enjoy for free! The only price we pay is looking at some advertising, which, as far as internet ads go are pretty decent. Does anyone else keep getting that diet thing that looks like an alien egg? WTF? I am afraid to click on it. Tangent OVER.**


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N I forgot to mention 2 other versions of A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square; Nat King Cole (awesome, obviously) and Hutch Hutchinson (the singer that Jack Ross was based on). Both are on youtube.**

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As they passed into the foyer, it occurred to Elsie how rarely she had ever entered a stately home through the front door. Usually, she was shunted away to the side, down a set of stairs and in through the servant's entrance. She had to admit, the effect of walking into a lofty entryway was breathtaking. A grand staircase carpeted in rich burgundy lead up and away from the white marble at the doorway.

"Will sir be playing cards this evening?" The bouncer inquired as a rather scantily clad woman assisted Elsie with her coat. He gestured towards the stairs.

"No, we are here for the music." Charles informed him.

"Through there." They were instructed.

They passed through a set of double doors into a room that would have been a daytime drawing room for the family that had previously occupied this house. In this incarnation, it was simply a barroom. The crowd was loosely gathered in small groups or couples. It reminded Charles of the 'indoor picnic' Mrs. Levinson had orchestrated several years ago at Downton, only the patrons here were not so finely dressed. Some lounges and chairs were scattered about, but the main feature of the room was the oak bar with several tenders and a wall of alcohol behind it. Charles had not been to a club like this in years. They had not changed much, except for the fashions the women were wearing. Though that was certainly difference enough to make him a little unsure of what he had brought Elsie to.

Hiding his discomfort well, Charles drew her towards the bar. "What would you like to drink?" He offered.

"I've been told that I am limited to coffee only." Elsie reminded him.

"I was only jesting. I am not your keeper, Elsie. You may have whatever you wish."

"Oh? In that case, surprise me. I'd fancy something sparkling."

A bar tender approached them, looking hurried and impatient. Charles ordered quickly, much to the man's apparent relief. "Dewar's neat and a French 75 for the lady."

"What is a French 75?" Elsie asked as the man scampered away. She thought that sounded a bit risqué.

"Gin, lemon juice and champagne. I think you'll like it. It's very refreshing. It is not as dry as champagne nor as sweet as Prosecco."

"And why is it called that?"

"I think it is referring to a large caliber artillery gun. The implication being that it packs a kick."

"Oh, dear!" She exclaimed, chuckling.

"I would recommend it be the last alcohol of the evening, it might be rather strong."

"Were you not just telling me that you are not my keeper?"

"That does not mean that I cannot look out for you."

"How do you know so much about cocktails?"

"It's my job to know these things. And the research isn't too tedious."

"I should imagine not." Elsie watched a cigarette girl walking amongst the patrons. She was wearing less than the sea bathers they'd seen yesterday. Elsie wondered if he came to places like this often when he was in London. There was a slight pang as she realized how little she knew about this segment of his life and how much more she wanted to know about him.

The drinks arrived and were paid for swiftly. Elsie could tell from the barkeep's expression that Charles had left a handsome tip. She wondered if he was always so free with gratuities or if it was something he was adopting tonight for her benefit. She could see him truly appreciating a job well done, but she could also see him considering it a basic expectation that did not warrant special reward. But he had always been generous with his praise for exceptional service, so it was reasonable to assume he would be generous with his money. The easy and almost surreptitious way he handled the money made her believe she was not meant to notice. She concluded he was probably always like this.

They followed the distant sound of a clarinet into the next room, which Elsie judged was a repurposed dining room. All furniture had been removed and the lights were subdued. Couples swayed on the open floor or canoodled in the low lit corners. There was little connection between the movements of the dancers and the music.

The band was still unseen. In unspoken agreement, they continued to follow their pied piper. The atmosphere in the next room was warm and vibrant. A band of five sat on a raised platform in the middle of the room with their leader strutting around in front of them. Enthusiastic dancers jittered and jived around them. There were some seats scattered around the periphery of the dance floor but these were all occupied. It was too loud here for conversation anyway, so they continued out of the music room into a conservatory. One side of the glass room was open to a private garden into which they now strolled. Charles and Elsie found a low bench that backed directly against the glass of the conservatory and sat down, side by side in the warm night. Finally, they could speak again.

"How is your cocktail?" Charles asked, leaning back against the glass, but slightly towards her.

"Very refreshing, but I'm waiting for the kick." She teased.

The music was still clearly audible through the glass and the open door. The volume was such that they could hear each other easily, but Elsie spoke softly and Charles took the opportunity to lean in closer to her. The band leader had begun to sing something about bee's knees. "The band is quite good, I think, though I've little experience. I believe Mr. Ross was better." Elsie ventured.

Charles nodded his agreement. "But Mr. Ross plays the better clubs. I'd say this place is high end working class, but it is still distinctly working class."

"I think it's amazing. Remind me to thank Hans."

"Who's Hans?" Charles asked, taken aback.

"Mr. Kirkpatrick. You told the doorman…"

Charles laughed and shook his head. "No. That was the passphrase. These places are technically legal, but they don't like to advertise themselves too much. They like to stay mysterious and exclusive, so they use inconspicuous storefronts and passwords. It was always like that, but they are probably trying to emulate the American Speakeasy now to give it that authentic jazz feel. Mr. Kirkpatrick's first name is Douglas."

"Well who is Hans, do you think?"

"I assume 'Hans' refers to Hans Christian Anderson who wrote the story about the Nightingale." He was still laughing as he looked up into the large plane tree that dominated the back garden. "There, I believe, is the Nightingale herself."

Elsie's gaze followed his pointing finger to a small, dazzling bird ornament hanging from the lowest bow of the tree. "I don't remember that story very well. My favorite tale from Mr. Anderson was the Little Mermaid. Do you remember how the story went?"

"I could hardly forget it, it was one of Lady Mary's favorite stories. I must have read it a hundred times if I read it once." She nodded for him to continue. "According to Mr. Anderson, the Emperor of China captured the Nightingale and held her captive for her song. She was praised throughout the land and was taken for walks with twelve attendants holding onto twelve ribbons tied around her leg. Eventually, the real Nightingale was replaced by a mechanical one covered in jewels and the genuine song was replaced by a tin copy played by this mechanical bird that could only sing waltzes. In the excitement over the bejeweled nightingale, the real Nightingale was ignored. She took the opportunity to escape and flew away. The Emperor thought her an ungrateful creature and banished her from his kingdom. Eventually, the mechanical bird became fragile and could only be wound up to sing once a year. Years later, the emperor fell ill and everyone expected him to die. The Nightingale, hearing that he was soon to die, returned to sing by his bedside. When she arrived, Death was sitting on the Emperor's chest. Death was so moved by the Nightingale's song that he allowed the Emperor to live as payment. The Nightingale was then free to fly about the land, bringing news and stories back to the Emperor and singing at his window."

"So the jeweled Nightingale was a pale imitation of the real thing? Funny they should name the club after the artificial creature."

"I doubt whoever named it thought anyone would think too deeply about the reference. Or they are having a laugh at their patrons' expense with most of them being none the wiser. I suppose a working class club could be considered a pale imitation of a real club."

"Well, I obviously don't know any better because it feels like a real club to me. I remember the story a little better now, but I don't remember the Nightingale being a 'she'."

"In the book, the bird is only referred to as 'it', but Lady Mary assumed it was feminine, so I've come to think of it as such."

"Speaking of Lady Mary, what is your opinion of her gentlemen?" Elsie had long been dying to know his thoughts on Mary's suitors, but had always thought it unwise to ask at Downton.

He looked thoughtful for a moment. "Lord Gillingham smiles too much, Mr. Napier is too nice and Mr. Blake is too short."

She laughed at his curt dismissal of each of the men. Of course he would not think anyone worthy of Lady Mary. "Perhaps Lady Mary is too tall. She and Mr. Blake seem about the same height."

"Not when she is wearing heels."

"Should you like him better if he wore heels too?"

"I should definitely find him more interesting." He joked.

"They are all rather dull, aren't they? But I remember Lord Gillingham from when he was a lad. He used to come downstairs looking for the girls."

Charles smiled to remember. "They would hide in your office or mine during the large house parties. I think they got tired of all the attention and pressures of those events. I didn't know he came downstairs looking for them."

"The first time he came downstairs, he was looking for them. They were in your office. I gave him some sweet tea and some biscuits and sent him back upstairs." Elsie recalled. "After that, he would come downstairs every time his family visited, which was quite often in those days. I think he preferred the quiet downstairs to all the adult conversation upstairs. He was a sweet boy."

"So you think Lady Mary should choose him?"

"She should choose whomever she loves." Elsie reminded him.

"The fact that she cannot choose between them only proves that she does not love any of them."

"Not yet, perhaps."

"And they all have their own estates to worry about. What if something happens to His Lordship? None of them will care two figs for Downton. Who will guide the estate until Master George is of age?"

"What if? What if the sky falls? What if the banks fail?" Elsie could see he was getting upset by this topic. It was probably time to end it. "At least any of them would be an improvement over Mr. Carlisle."

"Pray don't mention that odious man." Charles growled, still irked by the memory of the newspaper man who had almost taken him away from Downton.

"I'm only observing that she would probably be fine with any of them. So we needn't worry."

"Fine? Is that what she is to settle for now? _Fine? _ I don't see why she should have to settle for any of them. She is a strong, independent woman. Such a woman has very little need for a man."

"I don't know. I hear men have their uses." That got Charles' attention. "Oh, dear. Did that sound risqué?" She asked, coyly.

"Very." But his smile declared risqué was acceptable this evening.

"Good. Now, forget about Lady Mary and come dance with me." She sat down her empty flute. "I think I'm starting to feel that kick you warned me about."

Charles' glass was empty too, so he abandoned it as he let her pull him up from the bench and back into towards the band and the dance floor.

TBC…

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**Just assume they are dancing happily the whole time between now and the next update.**

**And also, Blake****_ is _****too short, it annoys me. Yes, I am that shallow.**


	15. Chapter 15

_Why do I do, just as you say?  
Why must I just, give you your way?  
Why do I sigh, why don't I try - to forget?_

_It must have been, that something lovers call fate_  
_Kept me saying: "I have to wait."_  
_I saw them all, just couldn't fall - 'til we met._

_It had to be you, it had to be you_  
_I wandered around, and finally found - the somebody who_  
_Could make me be true, and could make me be blue_  
_And even be glad, just to be sad - thinking of you._

_Some others I've seen, might never be mean._  
_Might never be cross, or try to be boss_  
_But they wouldn't do._  
_For nobody else, gave me a thrill - with all your faults, I love you still_  
_It had to be you, wonderful you_  
_It had to be you._

Elsie Hughes laughed to herself as the bandleader sang.

"What's so funny?" Charles wanted to know.

"I cannot say." She wondered if he was listening to the words of the song. If he was, he apparently did not find them as amusingly apropos as she did. He often did _try_ to be boss, but that didn't affect how she felt about him.

"Cannot say or will not say?"

"Will not." With her head resting against his chest, she felt him growl in mock frustration. They were dancing closely in the darkened dining room turned ballroom. They had spent some time dancing around the bandstand. They had even danced the Charleston; laughing the whole time. But the lively music and the new dances had finally worn them out. Unwilling to release each other, they had moved into the calmer of the dancing rooms, where the music was more distant and the dancing less defined. The music had since taken a mellow turn, much to her enjoyment. Their hands were still appropriately located, but they danced more closely than convention generally allowed. More couples were whispering closely and kissing in niches along the walls or corners than had been earlier in the evening. Elsie watched them wistfully.

"Don't turn into a bear on me now, Charles."

"You've kept me up past my usual bedtime; I'm bound to be a bit irritable." He joked.

"_Who's_ kept _who_ out?" She drew her head away from him to look him in the face in ironic challenge.

"Guilty as charged." He admitted with a smile. She accepted his confession and placed her cheek back to his chest as he sighed contentedly. "I almost feel sorry for the staff tomorrow. They'll be facing a cranky butler and possibly a short tempered housekeeper."

"Who is this short tempered housekeeper of which you speak? Is Mrs. Butte coming back early?"

"I meant you, and well you know it."

"I shan't be short tempered at all. In fact, I doubt I will stop smiling for weeks." Her face already hurt from all the smiling she'd done tonight. "Thank you for tonight, Charles."

"You are most welcome, Elsie. You deserved a special night and I am glad I could provide it. I can never thank you enough for all you do; for the staff, for the house…" He hesitated before adding. "For me."

"That's my job; looking out for my staff, my house…my butler."

"And you do your job better than anyone else could. This season has been the most enjoyable I can remember. The house usually rings with Mrs. Butte and Mrs. Patmore fighting like cats and dogs."

"Mrs. Patmore and I have our rows too."

"Yes, but you just fight like cats."

"What does that mean?"

"My grandfather had a pair of barn cats. They would spit and fight all day; the fur would fly, I tell you. But at night, they'd curl up together in the loft. I asked him about them once and he just said, 'Ol' Boot and Lil' Puss are sisters, that's just how sisters act. Don't ask me why.'"

The bandleader crooned his last 'you' and announced a break in their set. Without the music, there was no excuse to remain wrapped around one another on the dance floor. Most of the other couples dispersed to the garden or the barroom or one of the few unoccupied dark corners. A few oblivious lovers remained swaying on the dance floor, unaware that the music had ended. Elsie cursed herself as a great yawn escaped from her before she could hide it.

"Well, I'm glad you were the one who flinched." Charles teased. "But I have to admit, I'm about dead on my feet. I hate to suggest it, but perhaps we should call it a morning."

"Morning? What time is it?" She realized that she had no idea.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you." He led her gently towards the coat check. They passed through the barroom. A few patrons were refreshing their drinks while others settled their bills. A wilted looking flower girl was leaning against the bar talking to a burnt out looking cigarette girl.

Elsie remembered what he had said earlier when she'd teased him about the flower girl that was hovering about the edge of the dance floor. He'd replied with an exasperated expression, "If a man doesn't buy a flower for his lady, he looks cheap. But if he buys one, he doesn't get any credit for the act because he only bought it out of obligation. It's extortion really." It had oddly reassured her to know that his romantic inclinations did have their limit. It made the night more real; more perfect.

Charles handed the coat check girl the ticket for Elsie's coat and then turned to find Elsie gone. Unable to seek her out immediately, he waited for the coat and tipped the girl before returning to the barroom to search for her. Elsie met him as she was coming out of the room. She had a mischievous grin on her face. Elsie continued to act cagey as he helped her on with her coat. He realized she was hiding something from him in her hand. _Let her have her fun_, he thought, but he would not be drawn into asking her what she was about.

The sky was lightening as they exited The Jeweled Nightingale. Even though Grantham House was not far, Charles thought it best to use one of the cabs queued up in front of the club. He gave the driver the address of the house two doors down from Grantham House. It was possible that the family was still out and it would never do for them to arrive home to find a cab blocking their door. As they settled into the cab, Charles forced himself to leave a respectable distance between them.

As the prospect of returning home loomed over them, he realized that he had been very forward this evening. _Not that she seemed to mind,_ he thought proudly. The alcohol had worn off hours ago and now the euphoria was dissipating as well. How had he ever considered this a date? When a man courts a woman, he has honorable intentions. Charles knew he could never offer her an honorable option. He was reminded of the dismal, immutable truth of their situation. It was all well and good to deny it for one evening, but their reality had not changed one jot in the last eight hours. No more than it had changed simply because he had held her hand at the beach.

Charles only hoped that the harsh return to the real world would not be as hurtful to Elsie as he knew it would be for himself. If it was, it would be his fault and he could not bear the thought of causing her any pain. He was stirred from these melancholy thoughts by a hand on his arm and a giggle by his side. Surely she was not still intoxicated!

"I wanted to say thank you once more, Charles, before we become Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes again." He smiled appreciatively at her. How could he ever have doubted her pragmatism?

From beside her, she drew two red carnations. They were almost as wilted as the poor flower girl who had sold them to her, but they were the sweetest things he had ever seen. Charles had not bought flowers for a girl since Alice broke his heart. He had certainly never received flowers from anyone.

A lump of emotion lodged in his throat and rendered him speechless. Between the church tickets, the meal, the club fee and the cab, Charles had spent over a month's salary in one night. She had trumped him with two wilted flowers that probably cost ha' penny each. It was the difference between the ostentation of a Jeweled Nightingale and the genuineness of the real thing.

He accepted the flowers with a lopsided smile that told her more than any words he might have spoken. She wrapped her hands around his as they clasped the stems of the carnations. As the cab pulled up to their destination she leaned up close to his ear and whispered, "Thank you, Charles. I will never forget tonight." Then she kissed him gently on the cheek, resting her cheek against his for a fraction of a second before leaning back.

He could only blush and nod in response. With his hair loose and curly, he looked to her like a child who had been praised when he had expected a scolding; afraid to speak for fear of jinxing his good fortune. The driver opened the cab door and Charles climbed back into the real world. He paid the driver quickly before reaching back to help Elsie down from the cab.

As it happened, it was fortunate that they had not arrived directly at Grantham House. Just as their cab pulled away, another pulled up in front of the house. Mr. Branson paid the driver as Lady Mary and Lady Rose climbed the steps, arm in arm. Carson pulled Mrs. Hughes into the nearest shadow, praying they had not been seen. He was sure that neither of the women had seen them or they would have exclaimed and called out to them. He was not so sure they had escaped Mr. Branson's notice as the young man cast a casual glance up the street in their direction as he turned to Grantham House.

They waited a few breathless moments before leaving the shadow to walk to steps that lead down to the servant's entrance. Carson was equally parts frustrated and thankful to find the door unlocked. It really should be locked at this time of night if the footman was waiting upstairs. But Molesley was probably aware that Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes were still out and had been afraid of locking the butler out for fear of reprisal.

"You should have a lie in tomorrow. I don't believe you have anything on your schedule until eleven." Carson said softly, knowing how his voice would carry in the silent morning. "What time shall we send Ivy up to wake you?"

"How about Tuesday?" She yawned prettily.

"How about ten?" He countered.

"I suppose that will have to do. What about you?"

"I'll catch a nap here and there like I always do."

"You had better. I won't have you biting off the staff's heads because of me."

"I shall try to behave myself."

She paused a few steps up the women's stairs. "Good night."

He noticed that she didn't use any name. He found that he did not want to call her Mrs. Hughes just yet and he knew he could not call her Elsie. So he simply returned, "Good night."

As she reached the first landing she heard Mr. Molesley encounter Mr. Carson. "Are the rest of the staff returned, Mr. Molesley?"

"Yes, Mr. Carson. You and Mrs. Hughes are the last."

"She's just gone up. And I saw that the family are all returned as well. You may lock up and retire yourself."

"Yes, sir. Thank you. Good night, Mr. Carson."

"Good night, Mr. Molesley."

TBC…

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**I am sure most of you have heard "It Had To Be You", which actually was released in 1924, but I like the song so well for Chelsie, I've bent time and space to include it here...written by Isham Jones, with lyrics by Gus Kahn**

**Back to reality for our lovelies. What will happen now? **

**Today's ad, 'Under the Gunn'**


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N Sorry I did not get a chance to update yesterday, I thought we could all stand to enjoy Elsie's happiness a little longer. Now, we get into the angsty reality, but remember...where there is life, there is hope...**

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If the stairs to the attic had not creaked, Elsie would not have believed her feet were touching the ground at all. She had experienced the perfect night in the company of the person who meant most to her in all this world. He had made her feel as though she was the most important person in the world; in his world. While the pragmatist in her whispered that tonight had not been a romantic outing for Charles, but only platonic, she would not let those thoughts steal away how she felt in this moment.

In a daze, she prepared for her few hours of sleep. She thought about a bath, but knew it was likely that she'd fall asleep the second she stopped moving. Humming merrily to herself, Elsie nearly bumped into Beryl in the hallway outside the washroom.

"Are you just getting in then?" The astonished cook asked.

"A few minutes ago." Elsie smiled sleepily.

"Bless me! It's gone four o'clock. Shall I trust you had a good time?"

"Oh, Beryl, it was…" She sighed dreamily. "It was the most wonderful night of my life. Charles was so charming…"

"It's Charles now, is it?" Beryl asked playfully.

"It was last night." She didn't want to think about anything but the past nine hours.

"I wouldn't have thought a concert of hymns would last so long." Beryl continued teasing lightly, truly happy for her good friend. Though she was admittedly surprised that this had been brought on by the behavior of her other good friend. "Did you sing all of Psalms?"

Elsie laughed in an offhand and carefree way that told Beryl all she needed to know. "No, we left the concert halfway through. He took me to Wiltons and then dancing… I'll tell you all about it tomorrow, or rather, later today, but right now, I am about to fall over and I'd best do that near my bed."

_Who knew old Charlie Carson had it in him to be such a charmer? _"I'll leave you to it then, but I will be expecting a full account later, Missy. I'd tell you to have pleasant dreams, but I don't think you need my advice on the subject."

Elsie shook her head and resumed her happy humming. Beryl's smile followed her friend to her bedroom door. A little while later, Beryl was downstairs in the kitchen, starting her day. Elsie was already fast asleep dreaming of his protective embrace in a moonlit garden filled with the song of a nightingale.

On the men's side of the attic there was no sleep for Charles. The thoroughly conflicted man sat on his bed facing his open wardrobe. He had carefully hung up his suit after changing into his pajamas. As he was doing so, he had inadvertently knocked his day suit jacket off its hanger. He'd rehung it and replaced the clothing in the wardrobe beside his tweed suit. For a brief moment, his hands had rested on both jackets and he had considered the suits, side by side; the clothing of a free man versus the livery of a servant. It was like seeing his two sides standing before him, the man and the butler. He couldn't say it represented the two _halves_ of him; he was more butler than man, more obligated than free, more Carson than Charles.

Charles and his plain tweed suit had experienced so much in the past two days. _Has it only been two days?_ His mind overflowed with memories that he was terrified of losing. His heart beat feverishly with feelings he hardly had the strength to deny anymore. He wondered if the vest smelled of lavender where she had lain her head against him. He would not allow himself to find out. He was afraid the sensation would break his will.

He looked at the pristine black butler's day coat. It was a uniform that defined him as well as confined him. Wearing it, Carson was a respected, productive part of a system larger than himself. He was part of what made England great. Even if the traditions were failing and the empire was crumbling, he would stand his ground. Maybe it would not matter to the world if one man deserted his post, but it would certainly matter if they all did. He could not be the man who let the system fail within his sphere of influence without a fight. If he did, what had his entire life been worth?

'Charles' was a selfish individual, like his father had been. 'Carson' was selfless and proud, as his mother had been. _Neither had come to very good ends,_ he mused darkly. For the first time in twenty five years, Carson admitted to himself that he desired the right to be selfish.

Finally, he reached the only conclusion he could be undeniably certain of; sleep was a hopeless prospect. If he remained here, in the idle realm of exhausted sleeplessness, he would have to plumb depths that he had studiously avoided for years. His only hope was the ever available distraction of work. He rose to prepare himself for the day. He removed his day suit and closed the wardrobe, leaving the tweed to hang in lonely darkness.

Half-dressed, Carson went to his porcelain bowl to shave. Looking up, he was surprised by his image in the mirror. He had expected a haggard, sleep deprived, old man. Instead, he saw the afterglow from his evening with Elsie still evident in his whimsical expression, his warm brown eyes and his curly mop of hair. His chin was a bit scruffy, but it looked like youthful fuzz rather than grizzled scratch.

Charles wetted his hair and gave it a cursory towel dry. He shaved quickly and combed pomade into his hair, taming it for the day. Now the man in the glass was a polished and distinguished personage. He looked older, but he looked put together and self-assured. His hair lay flat and his face was sober. Only his eyes betrayed the doubt he felt, and only for a moment.

Looking in the mirror, Carson was reminded of his days in the theatre. He had left service searching for freedom. He had found a world constructed of paper thin facades populated by people who hid behind stage names and stage makeup. It was not unlike the veneer of peerage he had left behind him, only he found no self respect in his work on the stage. His partner was a con man, his friends were insincere and his life was empty. When putting on his stage makeup each night and removing it, he had been forced to look himself in the eye, unsure of who he would find there on any given night. Eventually, he had concluded that freedom for men like him was just an illusion. He had returned to service. It was a cage, but it was a cage with which he was familiar and in which he could be comfortable. The rules were defined and the expectations were measurable. He had worked within those confines to become a respected man at the height of his profession.

Of course, he had intermittently experienced misgivings when applying the mask he wore for his role as butler, but the occasion was rare. Tonight, the doubt was oppressive. He tried to push it away, telling himself it was too late for an old fool to be asking himself who he was. The answer was already set in stone; he was Carson, the butler. But another voice argued that it was not too late to ask if that was enough. But what was the point? It was probably too late for any remedy should the answer be 'No'.

His eyes were drawn to the glass on his night table. He had trimmed the stems of the carnations and placed them in a glass containing a small amount of headache powder. They were already looking better than they had when he'd first received them.

He was finally dressed for the day and could escape this cell of contemplation. Carson was relieved to turn away from the man in the mirror and all the unanswerable questions He insisted on asking. As Carson descended the stairs frivolous thoughts were replaced by practical matters. His mind filled with household worries; chief among them the issue of the boiler. By the time he reached the kitchens, his mind had been soothed by the opium of gainful employment.

Carson headed to the kitchen to make a spot of strong tea before going to his office. He was astonished to find Mrs. Patmore already bustling about.

"You're up early." He commented, announcing his presence in order to avoid startling her.

"Well, if it isn't Prince Charming hi'self!" She exclaimed. When he did not respond to this jest, she added, "I may be up early, but you're up late, or so I gather."

"No later than on the evening of Lady Rose's ball." He said practically. "Shall I start the boiler for you, Mrs. Patmore?"

"I won't need the hot water for a time yet. It can wait until the boys come down. Now wait here while I make some tea." Mrs. Patmore gestured to a small chair in the kitchen corner, but he remained standing. She turned to the stove and spoke to him over her shoulder. "I want to know all the gossip. Mrs. Hughes didn't give me many details."

"Gossip?" Carson looked scandalized. "There is no gossip to be known. I will thank you not to suggest otherwise."

"You should know me better than that, Mr. Carson. I only meant that Mrs. Hughes was quite pleased with herself when I ran into her in the hallway. Or should I say she was pleased with you? I would like to hear all about it from the man of the hour."

"I am glad to hear that she enjoyed herself, but you will have to garner your information from Mrs. Hughes. I will only say that it was a very pleasant evening."

Mrs. Patmore did not have any patience for his caginess. "I'd say you overshot pleasant and hit magical, Mr. Carson. She looked as starry eyed as Cinderella returned from the ball."

She'd meant it as a joke, but she could see that her words had distressed him.

"What did she say?"

"I am sorry, Mr. Carson, I only meant…"

"What did she say?" He demanded.

"Only that she had a wonderful night and you were very charming."

"I was only trying to show my appreciation for all the extra work she's done this Season. You don't think I've given her any false impression, do you?"

Beryl shook her head. She knew it wasn't really her business, but she did not relish the prospect of spending the next few days watching him backpedal from his gallantry. Elsie had been very patient with him, Beryl had observed, but perhaps these two needed some outside interference. Wisely or not, Beryl decided she was not letting Mr. Carson off the hook that easily.

"When I do something extra, I get a bottle of port and an extra day off, not an eight hour escorted tour of the delights of London. I don't know what you intended, Mr. Carson, but I think it might be said that you fair swept her off her feet."

Carson looked terrified. "That was not my intent, I assure you."

Like the kettle on the stove, Mrs. Patmore's anger was starting to boil. "Don't try to pull that with me, Charlie Carson. I've known the pair of you for over twenty years. I saw you together at the beach and I saw how you both looked this morning."

"I don't know what you are talking about." He insisted.

"I think you _do_ know. If you don't see how she feels, then you are an idiot." She slammed the whistling kettle from the stove onto the table and faced him, her eyes blazing. "If you can ignore how you feel, then you are a coward. Either way, Mr. Carson, I am ashamed to know you."

Mr. Carson had no response to make to these accusations. He'd come downstairs to avoid this very topic. Now, he was facing an unwanted conversation with an adversary that would be much more difficult to ignore than his inner voice. Saying nothing, he marched out of the kitchen and into his office, slamming the door behind him.

TBC...

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**A/N What? You were expecting him to acknowledge and accept how he feels? What kind of hopeless romantics are you people? **

**I promise a timely update. Reviews are much appreciated. **


	17. Chapter 17

Mrs. Patmore felt terribly. She had not meant to be so confrontational with Mr. Carson. She'd only meant to give him a gentle nudge. Instead, she'd wholloped him upside the head. _How does Elsie have the patience to deal with that man?_ Beryl knew she had to fix her mistake before the staff began to stir or Elsie would be the one bearing the brutish behavior of one seriously spooked butler.

Mr. Carson ignored her knock when she went to his office a little while later. She pushed in, carrying a tea tray with her. "You never got that tea I promised, Mr. Carson." She said in what she hoped was a cheerful tone.

Mr. Carson still did not acknowledge her. He stood by his window watching the dawning light trickle between the buildings. Mrs. Patmore sighed and steeled herself. "I wanted to apologize, Mr. Carson. I should not have mettled. Whatever is or isn't between you and Mrs. Hughes is your business." She spoke to the cold wall of his back. "But you are my two dearest friends and I only want for the two of you to be happy."

His shoulders sagged at this. Beryl knew she was forgiven, but she knew that the damage she had done was still far from healed.

"You said she was like Cinderella?" He asked weakly. "Sparkly eyed and happy?"

"She was dancing on tiptoes and humming like a princess in a fairytale, Mr. Carson. All that was missing was a glass slipper. You should be proud that you made her feel that way."

"But I should not have made her feel that way. It was irresponsible of me." He shook his head sadly. "You know our situation. This doesn't have a happily ever after ending. This is not a fairytale, Mrs. Patmore, and I am not a prince. Even if it were a fairytale, I am just another imposter who crashed the ball."

"I don't think Mrs. Hughes needs a prince."

"She deserves one."

"If a prince walked in that door she'd turn him down flat for you." Beryl said boldly, setting the tray on his desk. "Maybe you can't give her a castle, but that doesn't mean there isn't a happy ending. Don't give up so easily, Mr. Carson. Or don't you think she's worth it?"

"She's worth more than I have to give, Mrs. Patmore. That is precisely the problem." He said hopelessly.

Beryl stood next to him at the window and handed him a cup of tea on a saucer. He took it mechanically but did not drink. She lay her hand on his arm, trying to give him comfort. "I'd like to give you some advice, Mr. Carson. Allow me to help you, as you once helped me." He looked down at her, confused. "When I was losing my eyesight, you reached out to me and you comforted me."

"His Lordship and Dr. Clarkson saw that you were properly treated." Carson countered.

"But you were my friend and you reassured me when I was afraid. You were the first person to make me feel any kind of hope. That was more important to me than any doctor. They took away the cataracts, but you took away the fear and uncertainty just by holding my hand."

"I didn't know what else to do." He admitted feebly.

"You're a good man, Mr. Carson, with kind instincts, but you seem to ignore them when it comes to Elsie. In fact, you seem to do more than ignore them. You seem to fight them. But you didn't fight them last night, please don't fight them now." She could see he was truly listening to her now. "After the lovelorn mess we've had to endure with younger staff, I'd thought I was done with such nonsense. Now I know there is nothing worse than two stubborn old people in love."

"We aren't…" He began to protest, but one look from Beryl stopped the words in his mouth. He meekly protested, "We aren't _allowed_. For all the magic of last night, we still come and go by the servant's entrance, not the front door." He finally realized that he was holding a cup of tea that he did not want. He turned away from the window and set the saucer and cup on his desk.

"I know why you are afraid, Charles." Beryl risked using his first name. He needed to understand that she was his friend. "Mrs. Nettles told me about how you came to be in service."

He had not expected this. Firstly, he had not expected the warmth that flowed through him when Beryl used his Christian name. It was different from the sensation he felt whenever Elsie uttered it, but it was a welcome and comforting feeling, all the same. Secondly, the mention of the old cook, Mrs. Nettles, brought back a flood of emotions. It resurrected long buried memories of a lonely boy and his first taste of the harshness of reality. "She was a good woman; Mrs. Nettles."

"That she was."

The former Downton cook had been an assistant cook in the first house Charles Carson had served in. She had been a friendly soul in an otherwise dismal place. Long since dead, in many ways, Mrs. Nettles had saved his life. "What did she tell you about me?"

"She told me enough to understand some of what goes on in that stubborn head of yours." Beryl assured him. It was not necessary to tell him exactly what she knew. It would be enough to hint at the main point. "You'll not be the ruin of her, Charles. You're a better man than your father ever dreamed of being."

"That's not setting the bar very high." Charles grumbled.

"Perhaps not. But I think you would look after her, if the need arose. Even if you both were to leave Downton, you'll be fine. You are both hard workers and respectable people. And I shouldn't wonder if you've got a fortune socked away somewhere. I mean, if you can afford to take a woman to Wiltons." This elicited a small, albeit sad smile from Charles.

Charles found his way to the high-backed leather chair and slumped into it. He looked at Beryl imploringly. "You said you had some advice. I could certainly use some. I don't know what I am to do."

"Well, I'm not sure I can tell you what to do, but I know what you shouldn't do." She stood directly in front of him, her arms crossed sternly, trying to hide her uncertainty. She could not recall Mr. Carson ever asking her for advice before. It was proof of the extent of his desperation. "You shouldn't start throwing water in an over salted stew."

"Huh?" For a moment, Charles wondered if he had fallen asleep and missed part of the conversation.

"Any good cook will tell you that. If you have a little imagination, you can always make something that is edible, even if it isn't what you planned to make when you started. You get creative and work with what you have, but you don't let good food go to waste."

Charles took his head in his hands and rested his elbows on his knees. "Mrs. Patmore, I am in no state to decipher cooking metaphors. Please, just tell me what you mean and speak plainly."

"Basically, it means, when you make a mistake, don't panic and over correct. In this case, don't punish her because you let her too close and now you are afraid." Beryl stated with finality.

"What do you mean, punish? When have I ever punished her?"

This elicited the first eye roll of the conversation. "Whenever you think someone is noticing the two of you getting too cozy, you push her away. You think you are covering your tracks and no one will suspect your feelings if you are more harsh to her than to anyone else. You treat her with extra formality and find fault with every little thing. She notices and it hurts her."

"I've never meant to hurt her." He said, miserably.

"I know you've never _meant_ to. Often, it's your carelessness that hurts her most." Beryl tried to drive the point home gently. "You have to make a concerted effort to not retreat from her in the next few days. If you can just get through until Tuesday without saying something insensitive or cruel to her, she can carry the enjoyment from last night home with her to Yorkshire. Can you at least give her that?"

"I can try." Carson admitted, though he did not sound hopeful. It was a rare three day stretch when he did not say something to anger his housekeeper. "But what if she presses me for more?"

"Has she ever pressed you for more than you could give?"

"No." Elsie had certainly challenged him at times; she had flirted even, but she knew where the line was. Charles knew she was more interested in moving the line than she was in crossing it.

"Then there is no reason to think she will now. She was very content with last night's progress, I am sure. For her, a victory would be not losing any of that ground gained between now and her return to Downton."

_She makes it sound like trench warfare._ He supposed it was, in a way. "Have I lowered her expectations so far as that?"

Beryl could not help but chuckle warmly at his consternation. "I don't believe her expectations are low, but I think they are pragmatic. Remember, Charles, she's not asking for a castle or a prince."

Beryl was right. After their day on the beach, Elsie had not pressured him or made him feel awkward. _He_ had been the one to suggest they attend the concert together and it was he who insisted on the fine restaurant and the club afterwards. It would be unfair of him to punish her for following his lead. Elsie had never asked for a castle from him, indeed, she had never _asked_ him for anything. She had only ever _offered_ him her hand. The fact remained that he wanted to give her the castle, but he was also content to hold her hand. "So, am I to act as though nothing happened?"

"You are to act as though going out and dancing until four in the morning was the most natural thing in the world. You remember that she is your friend and you act accordingly. If you try to over correct, it will draw more attention to the two of you than if you just let go of your fear. Above all, do not avoid her."

His eyes stared at the top of his shoes as he considered her words. _Just act naturally._ Those had been Elsie's words to him on the beach.

His response had been _'Perhaps you shouldn't lean into me quite so much'_. Charles saw now how that must have sounded to her and why she had been upset with him at the time. He realized now that the beach was not the first time he had treated her with such abrupt and unnecessary coldness. It was a wonder she was still his friend.

Then he remembered something else she had said, over a year ago now. _It matters a lot. The woman you loved, loved you._

_But it doesn't change anything. _He had tried to downplay the impact of Grigg's revelation, but she would not let him.

_It changes you from where I'm looking._

Oblivious of Mr. Carson's thoughts, Beryl was trying to assure him that her plan was best. "After you come back to Downton, the two of you will have plenty to talk about, but for now, you just focus on getting through the next three days."

"I shall do my best, Beryl." He smiled hopefully. Maybe an old stick like him could change. He was bloody well going to try. "Surely I can last until Tuesday without putting my foot in my mouth."

Unable to lie to him outright, Beryl only pursed her lips and nodded in a manner she hoped looked reassuring.

TBC...

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**A/N Several people seemed very distressed with the direction the last chapter was headed, so I've updated as soon as this chapter was done (read as: here there be typos). I don't know if it's in character or not, but this Charles Carson is going to make an effort not to be an ass to our Elsie. That's a lot of self-awareness for him, but I don't want to hurt Elsie or burst her bubble if it can be avoided. The next few chapters will show us if he is successful or not.**

**While Mr. Fellowes and I may not see eye to eye on everything, we are in total agreement that Beryl is awesome and almost as much fun as Violet. **

**Please review if you've got a moment. **


	18. Chapter 18

After Beryl left his office, Charles gulped down the lukewarm tea and pulled out his stationary. He wanted to write a special note of thanks to the staff at Wiltons to accompany the wine he would send over this afternoon. In addition to six bottles for the Grantham locker, he planned to include three extra bottles; one each for Mr. Laramie, Johnathan and Douglas 'Hans' Kirkpatrick.

Charles allowed himself a smile at this memory. Sometimes Elsie was too smart for her own good. In this case, she'd jumped to a logical, but incorrect conclusion. He would have to let Doug/'Hans' in on the joke so he could tease Elsie the next time… _Stop right there. Most likely, there isn't going to be a next time,_ he reminded himself.

He filled his pen, but paused before he began to write. The enormity of what he had promised to Beryl was beginning to dawn on him. In promising not to inadvertently injure Elsie, he had promised to refrain from behavior that he was only now aware that he exhibited. It was like being asked, _'Could you please not blink so loudly!'_ He was bound to over think this. Every moment in her presence, he would be second guessing himself and on edge. That wasn't likely to help matters.

On top of this impending awkwardness, Charles had also promised Elsie that he would not be cross with the staff. As fatigued as he was, this was not going to be easy, but he was determined to be as mild as a lamb today, come what may.

There was only a cursory mention of Mrs. Hughes missing breakfast. Most of the staff were too busy debating the merits of last night's movie. Though most of the discussion had to do with the cartoon rather than the feature.

"That was not really Charlie Chaplin. It was just a drawing." Jimmy tried to explain to Daisy and Ivy for the hundredth time as the girls ran in and out of the kitchen, serving breakfast.

"No. _Felix_ is a drawing." Daisy said confidently. "Charlie Chaplin is a real person."

"Of course, the cat was a drawing! There are not a lot of dancing cats available, even in Hollywood." He rolled his eyes in exasperation. "And yes, Charlie Chaplin _is_ a real person, but the image on that screen was _not_ the _real _Charlie Chaplin."

"But the cat called him Mr. Chaplin." Ivy pointed out.

"And there is your_ first_ clue that it isn't real. The cat was _talking_."

"To Mr. Chaplin." Daisy chimed in.

Jimmy was in a right state now. He opened his mouth to point out how naïve the two kitchen maids were, but he was cut off by a low cough from Mr. Carson. "That is quite enough of that, James. Let's have some less contentious conversation at breakfast, please. You shall have to agree to disagree." He nodded kindly to the girls, who looked triumphant. In a lower tone he intimated to the flustered footman, "Let them enjoy their suspension of disbelief. A gentleman should never argue with a lady, let alone_ two_, when it can be avoided."

Jimmy was still reluctant to let the matter drop, but he was pleasantly surprised by the way Mr. Carson had conceded his point. Not being publicly humiliated by Mr. Carson was a step in the right direction. _Maybe the old boy is finally warming up to me,_ Jimmy thought hopefully. Things had certainly been better since Alfred had left, _the big goon_.

Mr. Carson excused himself from breakfast, announcing, "When Mr. Toby arrives with the boiler quotes, please send him to my office and send someone upstairs to inform Mr. Branson."

Charles had decided his best plan of action was to limit his contact with everyone. If he was not allowed to avoid Mrs. Hughes, he would at least hide from the staff in an attempt to minimize his chances of making a misstep.

Charles was just finishing organizing the wine delivery for Wiltons and adding his note when Mr. Toby arrived.

-00-

"It's ten o'clock, Mrs. Hughes."

"Thank you, Ivy." But Elsie lay in bed for a few more delicious moments. She did not rise immediately as she usually did in the morning. _But it isn't morning_, she remembered. Morning to Elsie Hughes meant before the sun was up. Morning was when she had fallen asleep today, she giggled to remember. _That will be the last of the giggling, lass!_ She scolded herself gently, and then giggled again.

_Sod it!_ This was going to be a difficult day, she might as well face it with a smile. She might not be ready to move on from the euphoria of last night, but Elsie knew that Charles was already back in full butler swing. Elsie remembered how professional Mr. Carson's tone had been last night while addressing Mr. Molesley. She remembered how he had hidden them in the darkness from Tom and the young ladies. She knew how he would likely be today, but she was determined to face it head on.

She had meant it when she told Charles that she would never forget last night. And Elsie was not going to let his predictable withdrawal spoil her memory. She decided that she would be so aggressively cheerful that her warmth would negate his chill. She would not be hurt when he found something wrong with the laundry room or if he barked at her because the maids were too noisy to suit him.

She would not let anything he said or did today erase the perfect experience that he had given her last night. _Nothing,_ she promised herself. If he hid from her, she would take no notice. If he tried to start a row, she would walk away. If he growled, she would laugh.

Elsie secretly pinned her future hopes on the written word. His letters to her at Downton during the Season were usually less guarded than many of their conversations. Now, she could ask after some shared destinations and subtly remind him of their night out with each communication. She might have as long as six weeks to wage her next campaign against his obstinate nature, one letter at a time. This would certainly by easier if they could get through the next few days without alienating each other.

Just before heading downstairs, Elsie held her favorite new scarf up under her chin, hiding the black dress from the reflection in the mirror and noting how it enhanced her eyes. _Like buying a frame for the Mona Lisa_, he had said, and he had meant it. Thus, she fortified herself to face the harsher version of Mr. Carson which she knew awaited her. He was a reluctant Romeo, but she loved this Mr. Carson just as dearly as she loved Charles, the charming stranger with whom she had spent last evening.

Elsie felt ready to face any punishment Mr. Carson might deliver, however subconsciously he did so. She knew he was reacting to his own fears, which lessened the pain of his thoughtlessness. She still did not understand those fears, but she was beginning to. His comments about his father had been very telling. She knew she was getting closer to the real man and the thought buoyed her considerably. Though it was likely, the closer she came to the heart of the man, the more frightened and cruel he might be. Holding her head high, Elsie walked proudly down the stairs, completely rejuvenated by her five hours of sleep.

-00-

The three men had spent an hour and several plates of pie debating coal versus natural gas as the boiler fuel. And then they had to decide exactly how much power was needed. Carson was thankful for Mr. Branson's presence and his knowledge of the new technology. It also came in handy when Tom casually mentioned that the Downton estate was going to be purchasing boilers in bulk in the next year so adding one more to that order would probably be cheaper than ordering through Mr. Toby. Suddenly, the price and installation costs both dropped considerably.

Mr. Carson did not eat any of the pie, Mr. Toby happily volunteered to take care of his neglected slice, but he was appreciative of the coffee Mrs. Patmore had sent to accompany the pie. It was strong and bracing. He needed it to keep his eyes open.

With most of the difficult decisions made, the three men emerged from the butler's office to measure the boiler space before finalizing the configuration. "And we can do away with that coal chute, Mr. Carson." Mr. Branson pointed out brightly.

"Mrs. Patmore and Mrs. Butte will be glad of that. It's almost impossible to contain that dust." He looked around the utility space and found a rusty tin tag hanging on a pipe. "Here is the gas line, Mr. Toby. There is a shut off just here and another here." He indicated the valves.

"That will make plumbing in right easy, Mr. Carson. Quick work. I won't be a jiff with the measurements." Leaving Mr. Toby to his work, Mr. Carson and Mr. Branson walked back to his office to wait. As they passed through the servant's hall, Mrs. Hughes was just sitting down to some toast and tea with an egg.

"Good morning." She said brightly, startling Tom with her enthusiasm.

"It is a good morning, Mrs. Hughes, for a little while yet, anyway." Tom smiled knowingly.

Carson's stomach dropped. Mr. Branson _had_ seen them arriving this morning, he was sure of it. He forced himself to file that humiliation away for later. It was not as though _Lady Mary_ had seen them. Mr. Carson addressed her as brightly as he could, "Good morning. I trust you slept well."

"Like a dream." She countered, somewhat taken aback that he had addressed her so cheerfully. "And you?"

"I am still looking forward to a nap. If I am not at lunch, you shall have to preside. Or decide which footman you will be sending into my den to wake me. You must choose whomever you can spare most; James or Molesley? For whomever you send, he may not return." He smiled appreciatively as Mr. Branson laughed at his joke.

Elsie was prevented from replying by the bite of toast she had just taken. She was glad for the excuse because she was not quite sure what was happening and she needed a moment to evaluate.

Uncomfortable with the silence that accompanied Mrs. Hughes' consumption of her toast, Carson ventured, "I have written a note to the staff at Wiltons which will be delivered with the wine. I presumed to include your regards. I thought you should like to know."

"Oh, I would very much like to send them a personal note of thanks, as well. That is, so long as it will not make you jealous." She regretted the jest the second it was uttered, but she continued with her light meal as if there were nothing strange in her teasing. She had meant that he would be jealous of her poaching some of his professional contacts, but, of course, it had not sounded that way. Elsie saw Carson's nostrils flare and his left hand flex. She braced herself for the well-earned reprimand. She was still determined to let it flow off her like water off a duck's back.

Surprisingly, with a forced casualness, he managed a small smile and said, "Of course, if you would like to send a note, it would mean a great deal to them. James will be delivering the order after tea." He was gratified to find that he was capable of absorbing the blunt force of her teasing. He knew his instinctive response of _'It is not my business to be jealous of anything you do, Mrs. Hughes,'_ was exactly the kind of insensitive comment Beryl had warned him against. Challenge one had been met and bested. Charles only hoped it would get easier from here on out, though that seemed doubtful.

"Thank you." Elsie stammered, taking a sip of tea to wet her drying throat. She wondered crazily if she had unknowingly passed through her looking glass this morning. Mr. Branson certainly was smiling like a Cheshire cat.

Tom gleefully watched the banter between the two heads of household. He _had_ seen them this morning. It had surprised him at first, but then it had seemed perfectly natural after a very little consideration.

Unfortunately, before Elsie could continue this intriguing conversation, Mr. Toby came briskly through the doorway. "That's got it then. I think we can fit the larger unit in with no trouble. Let's talk details."

"Good day, Mrs. Hughes." Tom excused himself.

"And to you, Mr. Branson." Elsie only managed a nod for Charles, which he returned with a smile, though his neck above his collar was still flushed with suppressed indignity. They still had not used any names between them, she noted. The spell they had spun together remained as yet unbroken. Elsie's dry toast tasted as wonderful to her as last night's foie gras.

TBC...

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**A/N Oh, he is really trying! I'm pulling for him, but three days is a long time...and they aren't even through Saturday yet.**

**Special note to those of you following and favoriting this story: I'm at 49 follows and 30 favorites! Both are new records for me! Thank you for your support. It**** really means a lot to me, considering this started as a 900 word one-shot****! Chelsie On!**

**Reviews mean a lot too, in case that needed to be restated...**


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N This story has some serious momentum right now and I need to wrap it up by next week, so I'll just be posting whenever I hit a chapter break. _Here there be typos._  
**

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The business with Mr. Toby lasted, conveniently for Mr. Toby, right up to lunch. Mr. Carson grudgingly invited him to stay for the meal. He had only been half joking about sleeping through lunch. "Could you stay a moment, Mr. Branson? I have a few more questions for you. Please go through, Mr. Toby. I shall join you in a moment."

"I think we should start charging him for desserts or he's going to make a killing on this job." Tom joked, but then he noticed how seriously the butler looked when Carson closed the door behind Mr. Toby. "How may I help you, Mr. Carson?"

"I believe you know what I should like to discuss with you, Mr. Branson." Carson looked awkwardly at a spot just over Tom's shoulder. "I believe you may have observed…that is…" He faltered.

"You want to know if I saw you and Mrs. Hughes arriving home together at four o'clock this morning." The young man stated matter-of-factly. He did not enjoy watching the discomfort of others. _Yet another reason I don't really fit in with the family upstairs, _he thought ruefully.

"Yes." Carson said simply. "And I wondered if you had shared this information with anyone." It would be common knowledge downstairs, Mr. Molesley had seen them, after all, but he was more concerned with speculation reaching Lord or Lady Grantham or, heaven forbid, Lady Mary.

"I'm not concerned with the comings and goings downstairs, Mr. Carson. I believe that is the butler's duty." He smiled warmly and Carson's defensive posture relaxed. "By the way, I want to thank you and to tell you that I've taken your advice."

"My advice?" Carson could not immediately remember what advice he had offered. So much had happened lately, his conversations with Mr. Branson did not exactly dominate his thoughts.

"I've decided to move Sybbie and myself into the agent's house after the Season. Though I've not told Her Ladyship yet."

"Ah. That. It may be for the best. You will be sure to leave my name out of the conversation when you do tell her, will you not?" Carson reminded him.

"Rest assured, Mr. Carson, I shall claim it was all my own idea. Sybbie's getting older now and I don't like having to walk the length of the Abbey to visit my daughter."

"Miss Sybbie will be missed, by myself and many downstairs as well as by the family." Carson said sincerely.

"Thank you for saying so, Mr. Carson. Knowing you offered your advice even though you don't want her to go means a lot to me. It means you think it is important that she and I begin to forge our own lives."

"I cannot confess to thinking of it in such eloquent terms. I simply observed that you and Miss…"

"Bunting."

"…Bunting would be closely watched if you remained at the Abbey."

"Well, I appreciate the observation." Tom concluded. "Also based on your recommendation, I'm planning to return to Downton on Tuesday. I've made inquiries and you were correct; I am not obligated to remain here. Lord Grantham tried to convince me that I would be missed, but even he could not make that sound sincere."

"I envy you." Charles said in a moment of frankness brought on by his deep fatigue. "It would be nice to go home."

Tom hesitated, deciding whether or not he was expected to respond to this confession. Finally, he said, "I'd like to offer you some advice in return, if I may be so bold, Mr. Carson."

"I must have a sign on my back that says, 'Advise me,' today." Charles joked darkly.

"It's not written on your _back_, Mr. Carson. It's written on your _face._" Tom informed him kindly. "I feel like I am uniquely qualified to help you."

"Oh?"

"I know what it is like to see and work beside the woman you love every day and not be able to touch her or tell her."

Charles was too tired to even put up the semblance of a protest, but he remained standing and unmoving, staring resolutely at the wall.

"I can only say that after Sybil and I left Downton, neither of us regretted it for a moment. The only regret I have now is that we _waited _as long as we did. I lost her so soon; we had so little time."

"I thank you for your concern, Mr. Branson, but, as you have previously admitted, you are not as familiar with the rules that govern this staff as I am. As a chauffeur, you were set apart from those of us who worked in the house. You had your own cottage and you were free to pursue and marry whomever you wished." He could not help but add haughtily, "Though you took this liberty further than was intended."

Tom conceded this with a smile. He was long since familiar with the older man's palpable disdain, but he saw it now as the defensive shield that it was. Tom was not about to be put off. "Yes, I suppose the circumstances _are_ different, but the feelings are the same. I wish there was some way I could help you both, but all I can do is empathize and encourage you not to let the arcane rules of a dying system keep you from being happy." There was a long, silent pause, during which Tom thought Mr. Carson might have dozed off on his feet. But the man's eyes were open, boring a hole in the wall opposite him. "I just wanted to remind you that you are no more obligated to remain in London than I am."

"_That_ is not true." Carson said simply.

"You've an under butler and two footmen, one of whom is a former butler. Surely, they could survive the end of the Season without you." Carson seemed to consider this for a moment, but then shook his head. It was unheard of for a butler to leave his family during the Season. "Then there is only one other solution that I can offer, but you won't like it."

"And what is that?" Mr. Carson actually looked at the young man with curiosity.

"I could teach you to drive."

TBC...

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**A/N Tom is growing on me. I think he would be insightful enough to recognize the feelings between Carson and Mrs. Hughes, and naive enough to ignore the barriers to such a relationship.  
**

**Shout out to those of you who follow and post without accounts. You are as appreciated as the others, even though I can't reply directly to you.**

**Stay tuned, the next chapter will come very quickly, but I'd like your view on this one, if you've the time. **


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N ****There were two updates yesterday, so make sure you are up to speed. ****As promised, these are coming fast and furious now. There are some dialogue heavy chapters ahead. There may be another update later today, but no promises.  
**

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After servant's lunch, Mrs. Patmore and Mrs. Hughes locked themselves in the housekeeper's office with a tray of tea and biscuits. Beryl was ready to hear all about The Date, as she'd come to think of it. But Elsie was now fixated on her morning's interaction with Mr. Carson. Beryl had been pleased to note he was acting less imperious than normal at lunch, though most of his conversation had been with Mr. Toby. His behavior had gone mostly unnoticed by the staff, but Elsie was starting to get suspicious.

"And then he just left with Mr. Toby and Mr. Branson." Elsie concluded her story. "I thought for sure he would take my head off for such a pert remark in front of one of the family. Though, he hardly thinks of Mr. Branson as one of the family, does he?"

"It doesn't seem so odd to me. Maybe he didn't take any offense to your joke." Beryl offered vaguely, stirring her tea more vigorously than necessary. Elsie looked at her sharply. Now she was suspicious of the cook as well as the butler.

"Do you know something about this 'Cheerful Charlie'?" Elsie demanded. Mrs. Patmore dunked a biscuit in her tea and shoved the whole thing in her mouth, trying to look innocent in the process. She failed. "_Beryl?_"

"Why should I know anything?" The cook said around her biscuit in a voice two octaves higher than normal.

"Did you speak to Mr. Carson this morning?"

"Of course." _Not a lie_, she thought.

"About _me_?" Elsie pressed.

Mrs. Patmore shook her head emphatically, "No. _What?_ No… I mean…no, why would we?"

"Lor', if there was a contest for Worst Liar in Britain, they could just hold it at Downton because the two finalists are already there!" Elsie exclaimed, not sure if she was more incensed or delighted with her flustered friend. "What did the two of you talk about?"

Beryl resigned the fight, knowing she would lose in the end. "I only pointed out that he might try to be nice to you."

"Well, he certainly took it to heart. I appreciate the thought and the effort, but, to be honest, it feels insincere."

"Would you prefer he was his normal, thoughtless self?"

"No. I'd prefer he was his normal, _charming_ self. I just wish I understood _why_ he is so different in front of the other staff than he is when it's just the two of us, or even the three of us."

"It's probably because he doesn't feel nervous when it's just you. When there's an audience, I expect that changes things."

"He did mention that he had stage fright," Elsie remembered, smiling fondly.

"You see."

"And you pointed his insensitive behavior out to him and now he's miraculously cured? That's all it took?" Elsie was incredulous. "I've been trying to show him that for years. I just feel like this change seems too good to be true."

"I think the sleep deprivation helped me get through to him and it may not be a permanent change. I told him he only needed to last until Tuesday and then you'd be gone."

"_That_ sounds more like Mr. Carson."

"_You _could go easier on him, you know." Beryl ventured to suggest. "None of this is easy for him. He's scared."

"I know he is scared, but I don't know know _what_ he's afraid of? He cannot be scared of _me_. When have I given him cause to be scared of me?"

"He'd just afraid of disappointing you. His father…" but Beryl stopped here, sensing she was venturing into areas that were none of her business.

"What about his father?"

"Nothing. I just gather that his father was not much of a provider." Beryl tried to sound casual about it.

"He did mention his father last night. He said 'A more worthless man never drew breath'. It seems sad for a son to think that about his father, whether or not it is deserved."

"Oh, it's deserved." Beryl exclaimed before she could remember to stop herself.

"What do _you_ know about it?"

"Plenty." In answer to Elsie's glare, Beryl explained, "Mrs. Nettles, the cook who preceded me at Downton, told me. She knew Charles when he started in service."

"It's Charles now, is it?" Elsie could not help but sound piqued.

"Well, he certainly wasn't Mr. Carson when he was a boy." Beryl answered back boldly. "And I knew him when he was still just Charles, unlike you."

Elsie was properly chastised. Beryl had known Charles longer than she had and she was his friend. Elsie didn't have sole claim on calling him by his first name. "I'm sorry, Beryl, I should not have reacted like that. Please. Go on."

Beryl was not sure of where to start. "When did you go into service?"

Unable to see where this was going, Elsie played along. "When I was fourteen, though I helped out around our own home since I was wee."

"It was the same with me. And was it your choice?"

"It was either work on the farm or work in a house. The money was better in a house."

"Right, but you could have left if you didn't like it. Your parents would have found you another post?"

"I suppose so. What has this to do with Charles?"

"Little Charlie Carson didn't have a choice and I doubt he really understood what was going on. He was signed into service as an indentured servant when he was seven years old to pay off his father's debts."

Elsie was aghast. "He was an indentured servant? I didn't think they did that anymore."

"They don't and it was rare back then, but the institution still existed. I heard of a few cases, but they always involved young men trying to emigrate somewhere."

"Are you _certain_?"

"Mrs. Nettles was working at the estate when he arrived. She didn't stay there very long. I gather it was not a very happy atmosphere."

"I shouldn't think any master who would accept a child's labor as payment for the debt of a grown man would be a very pleasant man to work for." Elsie pointed out.

"No. And the butler had been trained up in His Majesty's Navy." Mrs. Patmore shared significantly.

"You mean?" Elsie's eyes grew wider still. Naval butlers had a reputation.

Beryl nodded. "I understand floggings were the preferred method of punishment for the male staff. Though Mrs. Nettles insisted Charles was too young and too well behaved to be beaten much."

"That would certainly make you appreciate rules. Wouldn't it?" Elsie said, more to herself than to Beryl. "What else did Mrs. Nettles tell you?"

Beryl hesitated, but she knew that her friend would not rest until she knew everything. It was best to have it all out now. "Only that the master of the estate didn't think servants should be educated and Charles was taken out of school."

"When he was_ seven_? How is it that…" Charles was one of the most well read men that she knew.

"Mrs. Nettles said he could read a bit. She helped him read his letters from home at first. I understand they were full of assurances from his father that they'd bring him home soon. He seemed to believe the lies for the first few months, but he eventually stopped asking for her help. She thought he had grown too ashamed of his father to ask for her help. She still helped him with other reading and she tried to teach him some arithmetic, but she left less than a year after he arrived. One of the footman promised her to carry on teaching him after she left."

Elsie pictured a young boy, torn from his home and thrust into a hostile environment where he was little more than a slave. He'd obviously had to rely on the kindness of other servants to piece together an education. Of course, he'd risen above it, but she could see the scars from such a youth still evident in the man for whom she cared so deeply.

It was the thought of the letters that really raised Elsie's ire. Letters from home would have been his only consolation and they were filled with such preposterous hopes that even a child could not sustain belief in them for long. She felt an anger growing in her; a deep hatred towards this worthless man who had sold his son's childhood to cover his own faults and then had proceeded to taunt him with false promises of freedom. "Thank you, Beryl. That explains a lot. I am glad to know this. I doubt Charles would ever have told me any of that."

"Oh! You can't tell him that you know! He'll know that you heard it from me."

"He'll be angry with us _both_ at first, I am sure, but he'll forgive us. I'll make him understand why it was important for someone to know."

Mrs. Patmore was not convinced. "You won't accomplish that in two days. Just wait until the Season ends. Talk about it back at Downton. He's trying so hard not to quarrel with you, this might just make his head explode."

"I am not sure I can wait, Beryl. He needs to face this so he can heal."

"This is not like the Grigg situation, Elsie. There's no rush to confront this. His father is long dead and Charles has built a respectable life for himself. That is important to him and your respect is more important to him than anyone's. If he knew that you knew, he'll feel so ashamed, it would crush him."

Elsie knew that Beryl was right, in principle, but she could not simply ignore this new information. "I won't _let_ him feel ashamed, Beryl. I will make sure he knows how much I respect him and how much _more_ I respect him, knowing his past."

"He'll see it as pity. Does Charles Carson strike you as a man who wants to be pitied?"

"No, but he does want to be understood. Everyone wants that. Everyone deserves that." Elsie insisted.

"He'll not thank you for it." Beryl warned.

"Not right away, I'm sure. But in the long run, it will be for the best."

"That's easy for you to say. I'm the one who has to stay here in London with him for the rest of the Season while you hide safely at Downton."

Elsie had to concede that this was true. It would be a cowardly thing for her to stir him up and then run off to Yorkshire, leaving Beryl to face Charles' wrath alone. "Very well, I'll wait until after the Season."

"Thank you." Mrs. Patmore sighed with great relief. "Now tell me about this date. How did you find the food at Wiltons?" Beryl asked, hoping to lighten the mood.

Elsie smiled appreciatively and patted her friend's hand. "I've not had a meal that fine since poor Lady Edith was left at the altar," she answered honestly.

She then proceeded to recount the entire evening. Beryl sighed and laughed at all the right places, but the specter of Charles' past hung persistently over them both throughout her telling. If anything, this new insight into his past made the events of the night before even more miraculous, in retrospect.

TBC...

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**A/N While the practice dwindled in popularity once it became clear that the courts were not enforcing the contracts, indentured servitude was still practiced as late as 1917. **

**I know this is a bit of a melodramatic twist, but I wanted an extreme reason to explain why Carson is the stubborn headed man we know who frustrates and intrigues Elsie (and us). Fellowes says Carson's grandfather was a groom on an estate, but makes no mention of his father. I choose to interpret this as his father was a loser. I think Jim Carter once mentioned that Fellowes meant to have Carson's mother be a drunk, but ended up with the Grigg story in season one instead.  
**

**What do you think? Is this completely crazy?**

**There WILL be Chelsie in the next chapter, guaranteed. ****BTW, I'm changing this from humor to drama. The story has just taken a wild turn in my head, BEWARE!**

**A note about the previous chapter. Tom was only joking about teaching Carson to drive. Carson is not going to become a chauffeur (not in this fic, anyway). Basically, Tom was admitting that beyond the advice he offered, he's pretty powerless to help. The only other thing he knows is cars. It ****was a rather lame, self-depricating joke on Tom's (and my) part. ****But yes, Charles Carson taking driving lessons certainly brings up some very funny images. If Tom thought Edith was a challenge...**

** If anyone wants to run with that idea, you can have it. I have no current plans to include it in this story (though I will admit that plans sometimes change).**


	21. Chapter 21

**Second update today! Enjoy!**

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After her talk with Beryl, Elsie could not stop thinking about young Charlie Carson. She was still so angry with his father that she knew she would be unable to keep her silence were she to speak with Charles privately today. And that was exactly what she had promised Beryl that she would not do. Elsie decided she should gently avoid him for the rest of the day. She didn't think he would mind. She doubted he would even notice. He certainly was not seeking her out.

When they did interact on Saturday, it was out of necessity and they were both excruciatingly polite. She stuck strictly to household related topics and did not challenge him or confront him in any way. It would be unfair to do either in his present state. He was skittish and on edge, but trying valiantly to be calm and deliberate. As much coffee as he had consumed during the morning, she was surprised he wasn't visibly shaking. He had stolen a very few minutes of sleep between lunch and tea, but it seemed to have hurt more than helped. He had arrested his momentum and was having a hard time overcoming the inertia of exhaustion.

When she encountered him in the kitchen preparing a headache powder, Elsie had kindly suggested that he allow Mr. Barrow to serve dinner so that he could turn in early. That suggestion had been met by another barely repressed retort, a forced smile and the strained reply, _'Thank you for the concern, but I feel I am well enough to perform my job.'_

He had, in fact, released Mr. Barrow early and had overseen Lord Grantham and Mr. Branson's brandy and cigars himself. He left instructions for the staff to eat dinner without him and no one could say exactly when he retired to his room. He must have gone directly to the attic from attending His Lordship.

Sunday morning, he was visibly refreshed. Indeed, he was cheerful enough at breakfast to converse with Mr. Molesley without rolling his eyes or growling even once.

Elsie had only offered him cursory, good morning, which seemed to surprise him, though he hid it well. She was mindful of the watchful eyes of the staff upon them both. Indeed, Anna seemed to be smirking in their direction. Elsie assumed that Mr. Molesley had revealed to the staff exactly how late the heads of staff had been out on Friday night. If they did nothing to fan the flames of gossip, it would soon die out. Maybe it was best that she was going back to Downton soon. Though Elsie doubted any of the younger staff believed either she or Charles were capable of anything scandalous. She often doubted it herself.

After giving him some space yesterday, Elsie wanted desperately to speak to Charles today, but she could not risk speaking to him much during breakfast. She wanted to assure him that she saw the effort he was making, but she wasn't sure of how to accomplish that without betraying Beryl or revealing what she had learned about his father.

Tentatively, she approached his office.

"I see you are feeling better this morning." She ventured, leaning in his doorway.

He looked up and smiled in welcome. Elsie's heart clinched as she could not help but see the young, abandoned boy in his eyes. His defensive posturing made perfect sense to her now. She wanted to hug him and tell him how proud she was, knowing what he had overcome. She wanted to tell him he was nothing like his father. She wanted to promise him that she would never abandon him, though that would be a difficult thing to promise, considering she was doing exactly that the day after next.

"I am. Thank you for noticing." He felt inexplicably confident today. He had navigated yesterday's treacherous waters on zero sleep and had not run aground. Today would be a breeze. Elsie was certainly looking very lovely today, but he sensed there was something not quite right. "May I help you with anything?"

"No, I hadn't anything particular to discuss." She spied the two red flowers in a tiny vase on his desk. "Those cannot be the flowers from Friday!"

He looked absurdly proud that she had noticed them. The carnations were doing remarkably well, though he said it himself. "It's amazing what a little headache powder can do." He rearranged them slightly, which meant he only turned one stem slightly between his fingers.

"The same can be said of people, I suppose." She joked.

"For myself, I believe sleep was more instrumental than the headache powder."

"Well, when you can't have one…"

"Right you are." He agreed cheerily. "If you've nowhere to rush off to, why don't you take a seat."

She nodded and sat in the great leather monstrosity he called a chair. Elsie was sure there was a story behind this chair. It was in ghastly condition on close inspection, but incredibly comfortable. From this perspective, she noticed that his office was not really conducive to chats or late night tea with a guest. They'd had to bring in two chairs from the servant's hall for his meeting with Mr. Toby and Mr. Branson yesterday. Elsie took heart from this. She had always been jealous of the unseen London housekeeper. There had been several over the years, widows or married women with families in London, generally. Mrs. Butte was a widow and had been with Grantham House for over five years now, which made her the longest tenured in Elsie's years at Downton.

"Have you heard from Mrs. Butte again? Will she definitely be back by Tuesday? I mean, if I needed to stay on…" She didn't want to sound too eager.

"We spoke on the phone this morning. You may actually get to meet her. She says she might return as early as tomorrow. She seemed very keen to return as soon as possible, but the doctors would not clear her until Monday at the earliest." Charles spoke lightly. Elsie watched his face for signs that might tell her anything about his relationship with Mrs. Butte, but she saw nothing. "Of course she would be eager to return; the Season is where she is expected to earn the bulk of her salary. Any other family would not have paid her for the past few weeks." Charles admitted. "And I don't think she is very comfortable knowing you did such a fine job in her absence."

"Should I blame you for any dirty looks she shoots my way?"

"Me?"

"Who else might be telling her about me?"

"I believe Lady Grantham spoke to her immediately after the ball to reassure her that all had gone well. I rarely speak to her about you." Realizing how that might sound, he rushed on. "I think it makes her feel inadequate. We rarely speak of anything but household matters."

"You don't share tea or sherry in the evenings?" _Really, Elsie? Could you be any more obvious?_

"I usually sit in here and read. Or I take the opportunity to write my letters." He did not need to add the implied, _To you_.

Elsie smiled at this admission. Even when he was at Grantham House, he was _her _butler. "Mrs. Butte should feel sure of her job. Though London has its charms, she will have no challenge from me over Grantham House. It is all hers."

"So you are glad to be returning home?" He sounded somewhat disappointed.

"I would be happier if the whole household were returning." She soothed his ego. "But I shall have to be content to go before and prepare the Abbey. I've not had a chance to visit my sister this year. I usually go during the Season, as you know, but this Season was more exciting than most. I might take the chance to spend a few days with her. "

"That will be nice." He said noncommittally. He hated to think of her leaving in only two days.

A silence settled over them. With their minds filled with promises to behave, almost every topic felt taboo. It was difficult to think of something safe to say. Finally, Charles, feeling perhaps overconfident, decided to broach a potentially delicate subject.

"I've been meaning to ask you something,…Mrs. Hughes."

Her face did not betray how much his simple utterance of her name had stung her. But she knew they had avoided titles for as long as they could, even straining the bounds of reason. For a brief second, when he had paused, she had believed he might call her Elsie. "You may ask me anything,… Mr. Carson."

"_That_ is precisely what I wanted to discuss." He sat up straighter and looked at her earnestly.

"What?" She couldn't fathom to what he was referring.

"This 'Mrs. Hughes','Mr. Carson' business." He waved his hand dismissively.

"What do you mean?" Her mind would not dare let her believe he was about to suggest what she hoped.

"Given our years of friendship, I think it would be appropriate if we continued…" _Too formal, old boy_, he reminded himself. "That is, I would be very pleased if you would consent to allowing me to continue to address you as 'Elsie' when it is appropriate. And I should very much like for you to call me 'Charles'." _Oh, much less formal._ he thought sarcastically. Was he only capable of sounding like a human being with a glass of wine in his hand?

"I would be very pleased with that arrangement, Charles." Elsie managed to say with an even voice. She even controlled her smile so she would not frighten him. She was going to give Beryl the biggest hug of her life the next time she saw the cook.

With that matter settled, they were both lost briefly in their private, happy thoughts. Then, the silence grew uncomfortable, with both of them afraid to say anything that could ruin the moment. Realizing that someone should speak, Elsie cleared her throat and was about to comment on the weather when Anna arrived.

"You're needed in the kitchen, Mrs. Hughes." _God Bless Beryl! _ Elsie had never been so glad to be interrupted by this girl in her life. Yes sir, Beryl was in for a real bear hug.

TBC...

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**A/N- 21 chapters! My fic can drink now!**

**Things are going so well. Tra La La La, skipping down the lane. Hey, you might want to lookout for that... ouch. You've been warned;)**


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N I am not trying to toy with you, I really did think the wheels were coming off this chapter, but there's a little more bliss before the bust...**

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"Get off me, girl. Leggo!" Mrs. Patmore squirmed in Elsie's crushing embrace. "Have you gone mad?"

"As a hatter, Beryl! And I owe it to you! Whatever you said to him, it's working. He's changing. I know it! _ We're_ changing." Elsie giggled. They were in the compact Grantham House pantry, out of sight from prying eyes. "And thank you for sending Anna! Things were going so well, one of us was bound to say something we'd regret."

Beryl pried herself from Elsie's arms and dusted herself off as though Elsie might have covered her with flour, though the reverse was far more likely. "I just didn't want you changing your mind about discussing _you know what_ with him."

"I promised you, didn't I?" Elsie said dismissively.

"Yes, but he knows you better than you realize and he's likely to suspect something if you start fussing over him like a poor injured bird."

"I would never…oh, but he did look so dear." Elsie sighed. "How can I see how much his father scarred him and not want to…" _hold _"…help him? I always wondered why he would never let me any closer, even though I _knew _he cared for me." Elsie was pacing the tiny space gesturing wildly. It was very unlike her. Beryl began to fear for her friend's sanity, but not as much as she currently feared for her own safety.

"Calm down, or you'll do one of us a harm." Beryl ducked under Elsie's swinging elbow as the housekeeper turned on the spot. "And by one of us, I mean me!"

She stopped pacing and faced Beryl with a half crazed look in her eyes. "I'm trying to rein it in, Beryl, I swear, but it's so difficult. I've never let myself hope so much before. I've always been able to hold back a part of me that he couldn't hurt. I've forced myself to accept that it could never be, that he could never be anything but Carson the butler in the light of day. I've never let myself even say what I want out loud." Elsie looked desperately to Beryl to understand. Beryl did and she nodded sympathetically, while rubbing Elsie's arm to calm her.

"I've forced myself to be content with our evening sherry and the occasional glimpses of the real Charles behind that cursed mask of his. And I was content, or near enough, but after the past three days, I don't know if I can settle anymore." _He _had suggested they call each other by their first names. _He_ had reached out to her! Believing his walls were finally crumbling, Elsie's last defenses had simply melted away. Her heart felt raw and naked like a tortoise with no shell. "I want him to love me as I love him, Beryl. I want to tell him and to hear him tell me. That is what I want. That is all I've ever wanted."

"Breathe, woman, or you're going to pass out." Beryl insisted, genuinely worried for Elsie now. "And if you don't calm down, you are going to frighten him back into last week."

This sensible warning brought Elsie back to herself. Slowly, Elsie composed herself and smoothed her dress front. "Right. Two more days." She said it like a mantra. "Two more days."

-00-

Luncheon was a rather subdued affair, considering the swirling emotions contained in the two figures at the head of the table. Elsie had kept her eyes studiously on her plate except for a few stolen glances in his direction. Before daring to look his way, she would scan the table to be sure that everyone else was engaged in conversation. On the few occasions when his surreptitious glances coincided with hers, they both looked away quickly, but not before he would raise his eyebrows teasingly and she would bite her lip to hide her smile.

Thankfully, no one ever expected Mr. Carson or Mrs. Hughes to be very talkative at meals, so no one paid their silence any mind. Even more thankfully, no one noticed the heightened color in Mrs. Hughes' cheeks or Mr. Carson's ears. No one but Beryl.

Mrs. Patmore observed all these things, but only because she was looking for it. Truth be told, to Beryl's eye, their glances were not so different from those she had observed at past meals when the two shared an inside joke. The difference now was that both participants were slowly becoming comfortable with the feelings behind the looks. The difference now was the two heads of house were blushing at each other like young lovers.

Dinner upstairs was to be early and light tonight to accommodate the Dowager Countess' wishes. Lady Rosamund was dining with them to see her mother and Mrs. Crawley once more before they both returned to Downton. "I've attended two balls with the crown prince. This has already been the most successful Season of my life. I shall be content to leave on a high note." The Dowager proclaimed. "Unless _you_ are planning to come out, Cousin Isobel."

For once, Mr. Carson did not take pleasure in seeing the Dowager Countess jibe at the younger woman. Lord Merton was a respectable man and Carson had noticed how Mrs. Crawley was enjoying his attentions. _Romance is not just for the young._ Or so Carson hoped. Mrs. Patmore's comment rang in his mind for the thousandth time, _'All women need someone to show a bit of interest every now and then. Preferably in a manner that's not entirely proper.'_

While Lady Rosamund had been added to the number, two ladies had been subtracted. Lady Rose was dining out with her new gaggle of friends. Lady Mary had gone along with her to chaperone.

Thomas had taken it upon himself to make two phone calls informing both of Lady Mary's beaus when and where the dinner would be. Though Thomas hoped his interference might stir up some drama for the evening, he also knew that whomever Lady Mary chose would be likely to remember Thomas' aid in the future. That was assuming she chose one of them. Thomas fervently wished he could be there to see those two puppies fawn all over their ice queen.

-00-

Things wrapped up downstairs rather early. Mr. Molesley was once again manning the door for Lady Mary and Lady Rose. Miss Baxter had volunteered to see to Lady Mary so Anna and Mr. Bates could go to a movie.

"Mrs. Hughes, would you please join me in my office at your convenience? I have a matter concerning Downton which I need to discuss with you." He sounded like his usual self, but it did not stop Elsie from hoping this 'discussion' was a ruse. She and Beryl exchanged meaningful looks. Beryl obviously did not want Elsie to venture into the lion's den. But Elsie had complete faith that the lion would not harm her.

Elsie appeared at his door less than five minutes later with a tea tray. "Mrs. Patmore thought we might like some tea."

"That was thoughtful of her." Charles took the tray from Elsie and placed it on his desk. He had moved the large, comfortable chair closer to the desk and had rolled his desk chair into a position, partially facing it. The corner of the desk jutted slightly between the two seats. He took the less comfortable desk chair. She settled into the leather chair that smelled like him.

Charles poured the tea, only filling her cup half way. He knew that she liked to sip and her tea grew cold too quickly for her to enjoy a full cup. Elsie smiled at this gesture. He sat down and sipped his own tea, smacking appreciatively.

"I've been thinking about Mr. Barrow and his 'restlessness' as you named it, Elsie."

So this _was_ just to be about household business. At least she would have the pleasure of hearing him say her name and she could return that pleasure to him. "The Season is the hardest time to be at Downton for an ambitious young man, Charles. The hours aren't exactly idle, but they are not very exciting."

"Perhaps Mr. Barrow would be happier staying on at Grantham House." Charles offered.

"I think that goes without saying. The extra training would do him good, I've no doubt."

"I think so and His Lordship agrees with me."

"So you would like my opinion as to who should return to Downton; James or Mr. Molesley? James is the first footman, but Mr. Molesley has more experience as a butler. I think James might prefer to stay in London, but then…"

"I thought _I _might return to Downton." He interrupted her rambling with this earth shattering statement. "His Lordship and I thought we could leave Thomas to try his hand at running Grantham House on his own. I'd only be a short train ride and a phone call away if there was a problem, but he'll never learn properly with me standing over his shoulder."

She did not trust herself to speak. Was he offering to return to Downton _with her_?

He smiled with a sigh of false regret. "Lady Rose's ball last week reminded me that London is a young man's game; late nights, last minute plans. I'm not a young man anymore. What are your thoughts?"

"Well, you're not an _old_ man." She teased, finding her voice.

The smile he returned was warm and made Elsie tingle. There were volumes in that look, a few of which she had yet to read. Was he thinking of a missed opportunity at the Thirsk Fair a few years ago? "I meant, concerning my leaving Mr. Barrow in charge of Grantham House."

"Charles, my conscience compels me to tell you that my opinion is hardly an unbiased one." Her smile implied that she was indeed very biased.

"I did not ask for an _unbiased_ opinion. I asked for _your_ opinion, Elsie."

"Are you asking me if I'd rather spend the next six weeks at Downton with you or with Mr. Barrow? That's hardly any kind of choice."

"Like choosing between Scylla and Charybdis?"

"More like between Hyperion and a satyr."

"That's very flattering. So long as I am not the satyr."

"Of course not." Elsie confirmed, her smile still growing though she hardly knew how. "You say His Lordship agrees with this plan?"

"He wants to discuss it with Her Ladyship and I need to speak to Mr. Barrow, but I don't see any protests coming from either of them."

"I should like nothing better than to have you return to Downton with me, Charles, but I must be serious for a moment. You must be careful. Once you give Thomas more responsibilities, he isn't likely to give them back without a fight."

"And would that be so bad? I once thought I could oversee Downton until the day I died, but… Oh, don't look at me like that." He laughed dismissively. "I've plenty of good years yet, but I know there will come a day when I cannot live up to the standards which I have set for Downton."

"And Mr. Barrow will be glad to point out or even hasten that day." She warned.

"If he is to replace me someday, we need to see how he handles being in charge of the family's affairs. Maybe these weeks at Grantham House will shed some light on his true potential. We know he looks the part, but can he lead a staff?" Carson wondered. "Or, we might get lucky. He might find he prefers London and seek out another position that would suit him better."

"Now, don't get my hopes up. I thought we were rid of him nine years ago. That boy has nine lives where Downton is concerned."

"Where I am concerned, he is on his last." Charles stated coldly. "I thought he'd grown on you."

"I didn't want to see him sacked over something he can't help. I still hold James responsible for his share in that. But that doesn't mean I trust Mr. Barrow any more than I ever did. I am only saying you should watch your back."

He was touched by her concern and could see her worry was genuine. He tried to soothe her fears. "Lady Mary told me the same thing once. I think I'll be just fine with the two of you looking out after me."

Elsie was about to say something inappropriate about looking out for him when a knock interrupted her. Elsie looked confused. Anna was at the movies, who could be interrupting them now? Daisy's voice called through the door, "Mrs. Patmore wants you, Mrs. Hughes."

"Thank you, Daisy, tell her I will be with her shortly."

"She says it's dead urgent and I'm to drag you away no matter what you say."

"She does like to exaggerate." She confided to Charles, who was waiting patiently for her to shoo off Daisy. "I'll be along soon!" She told the door firmly.

Daisy's steps hurried away. Charles smiled and relaxed, but Elsie knew they did not have much time before Beryl came to interrupt them herself.

TBC...

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**A/N Is Beryl going to undo all the good she's done? We shall see...**

**I am far too busy writing to be bothered to beg for reviews, so I simply will not do it;)**


	23. Chapter 23

**Just a short update.**

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They smiled awkwardly at each other after Daisy left. Her arrival had disrupted the easy flow of their conversation. Elsie thought she might have just been saved from being too bold and she was grateful, but she knew that the next interruption was eminent. There was something very important that she needed to know. She hoped the question would not be pushing him too far.

"Charles, if you don't mind my asking…what's changed? You weren't thinking of this last week when we talked about the staff returning to Downton."

"I hardly know. I only know the past few days have reminded me how it feels to do something because I wanted to, not because I was expected to. The world won't end and the family will survive the Season without me."

"I am glad you've reached that conclusion on your own. You would not have believed me if I told you it was so."

"Mr. Branson helped me see the logic of it."

"I shall have to send Mr. Branson a thank you note." She said sincerely.

"Now that you mention thank you notes, that reminds me. You asked yesterday if I was jealous of your writing to the Wiltons boys."

"That was just a joke, Charles, a very poorly chosen joke."

"But I did not answer you truthfully."

"Oh?"

"The truth is, Elsie, I _am_ jealous."

"Of the staff at Wiltons?" She scoffed. "Mr. Laramie was a terrible flirt, but I never took him seriously, that's his job."

"Perhaps, but he needn't have done it so well." Charles had set aside his tea. He looked directly at her and wrung his hands in his lap. "Elsie, where you are concerned, I am a very jealous man."

"What do you mean?" She asked, her voice barely a whisper.

He swallowed audibly and shifted in his seat before he could answer her. "I am jealous of Mrs. Patmore because you confide in her and she makes you laugh. I am jealous of His Lordship because he provides the roof over your head. I am jealous of your sister because she knew you before I did. I am jealous of Ivy because hers is the first voice you hear every morning. I am jealous of Mr. Branson because you look after him."

"But I look after you, as well." It was all she could think to say.

"But any time you spend with anyone else is time that you are not with me. I am jealous of anyone who looks at you, of anyone you smile at or anyone you walk beside. In short, I am jealous of anyone who demands one instant of your time and attention that I cannot; including the Wiltons staff."

She let this confession sink in. He looked so earnest and vulnerable. She knew the next few moments could determine everything between them. She decided to proceed cautiously. She smiled demurely and whispered, "Goodness, I hardly know how to respond to that."

He seemed encouraged by this answer. "You don't have to respond. We have weeks and weeks ahead of us to figure things out, but it is important to me that we are honest with each other. This is a new start, Elsie." He reached out and gently took her hand. "I have been a blind, stubborn fool. I must admit that I am out of practice in these matters, but I should like very much…BLAST!"

The knock on the door was decidedly Beryl's. Elsie wanted to cry out in frustration. Charles was equally put out as he pounced on the door. He opened the door so violently that the hinges creaked. He glared down at an astonished Mrs. Patmore. "And exactly _what_ is so urgent that it _must _be addressed at this _very _moment, Mrs. Patmore?"

Beryl looked like she'd been caught red-handed stealing something. There was guilt written all over her face.

_Oh, no._ Elsie thought at her friend, trying to reach her telepathically. _Don't lie, Beryl, please don't try to lie._

"I am finalizing an order and I needed to discuss something with Mrs. Hughes."

"You are finalizing an order?" Mr. Carson asked archly.

"Yes."

"At half past nine?" His expression showed that he found this highly unlikely. Since when did Beryl tolerate Elsie's opinions on food matters, let alone seek them out?

"I was going to take my half day tomorrow and I needed to give the instructions to Daisy tonight."

"Is Daisy not capable of reading?" He asked, logically.

"Yes." Beryl answered simply but she did not move. She stood before his towering frame resolutely staring at the ground.

Charles was perplexed at how to proceed. He was not used to such strange behavior from the cook. He looked at Elsie for help. Elsie was blanched and looked almost as terrified as Beryl. He looked back at the silent and flustered cook. He tried to piece together what was happening.

It was clear that Beryl had sent Daisy on a mission at which the girl had failed. But why would Beryl want them interrupted? He turned back to Elsie with a dark pit growing in his stomach. He realized that Elsie must have asked for Beryl's help in limiting her time with Charles. He did not mind that revelation in and of itself; she was trying to help him meet the goal now only two days away.

Charles knew the women were friends and he had expected they would talk about the events of Friday night, but now, a new fear gripped him. What _exactly_ had they said to each other? Specifically, what had _Beryl said to Elsie_?

In a low voice he hoped Elsie could not hear, he asked Beryl flat out, "What did you tell her?"

"Nothing." The cook insisted unconvincingly.

Charles knew Mrs. Patmore was lying, but he would not get a clear answer from her anytime soon. Facing Elsie, he tried to remain calm but her face said too much. He saw something in her he had always feared; pity. "Did Mrs. Patmore tell you something about me?" Charles asked as calmly as he could.

"Charles…please, this can wait. We can discuss this at Downton."

_She knows._ He felt humiliated, betrayed and violated. There had been a breach in the wall around him just as he was ready to open a door. He needed time to repair and reinforce his defenses. But more importantly, he needed to leave before he said something that could not be taken back about the insufferable interference of women. "I shall leave you to _discuss_ whatever you like." He said coldly.

Hardly knowing where he was going, Charles headed for the back door. He passed Thomas in the hall way. "If anyone asks after me, Mr. Barrow, I've gone for a walk."

"And when can we expect you back, Mr. Carson?" Thomas asked as the large man strode by him.

"I'll be back when it suits me, Mr. Barrow. You may lock up when it suits you." He grabbed the door key off the wall and stormed up the back steps to the street.

When Elsie reached the back door, he was already gone.

"Is there anything the matter, Mrs. Hughes?" He noted the flush of her cheeks.

"Nothing that concerns you, Mr. Barrow." Elsie hissed and returned briskly to her office where a devastatingly contrite Beryl waited.

_Oh, it concerns me plenty._ Thomas thought smugly. Something interesting was going on here, he was sure of it. Thomas was determined to get to the bottom of it.

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**A/N And there it is. There goes the rug! (And I ain't talkin' 'bout Thomas' wig). **

**And we all thought Charles was going to mess things up. We'll find out where he went tomorrow.**


	24. Chapter 24

**A/N I accept and your accusations of cruelty and offer this quick (short) update in partial recompense…**

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Every time the back door opened, Elsie would rush from her office to see who it was. Sometimes it was just Ivy taking out the trash or someone going out for a smoke. Back in her office, Elsie was trying to console Beryl. It seemed silly for Elsie to be comforting the cook rather than the other way round, but she welcomed the distraction.

She finally convinced Beryl to go up to bed around half past eleven. "There's nothing more you can do, Beryl."

"You mean there's no way I can muck things up even worse than I have?" Beryl sobbed.

"I didn't say that." Elsie stroked her friends head gently. "When Charles gets back, he won't want to talk to both of us. I'll be lucky if I can get him to talk to me. There is nothing for you to do. You should go get some sleep."

"I'm so sorry, Elsie. I was that worried that you were going to tell him and then I was the one who let the cat out of the bag. What a dolt!"

"This was a conversation that was going to have to happen eventually. That is not your fault. I am still grateful that you told me about his father." Elsie soothed. "Now go up to bed. Don't make me pull rank, Beryl." She scolded gently.

"As if you could." Beryl tried to joke.

"Off with you." Elsie smiled sadly. She saw the cook off to bed and then found herself at loose ends. She knew she should be crying or devastated, but she could not be. Elsie was too focused on the things he had said before he had run off. She kept reminding herself of the most important revelation of the night; he wanted to be with her. He wanted to be with her _so much_ that he was willing to hand his family over to Mr. Barrow for six whole weeks. And this was not idle talk. He'd already spoken to Lord Grantham about it.

She thought about him confessing his feelings of jealousy. It had surprised and pleased her that he would be so possessive of her. She had not had the opportunity to tell him that he had no need to be jealous; she was his and his alone. She would be content to be locked in a solitary tower away from the world, if only he were there with her.

The back door opened again. Elsie dashed up the hall to find Mr. Barrow returning from a smoke.

"Still up, Mrs. Hughes?" Thomas drawled.

"As you see, Mr. Barrow." She answered curtly.

"Has Mr. Carson returned yet?"

"Not to my knowledge." She tried to sound unconcerned.

"Hmm. Strange time to take a walk, wouldn't you say?"

"I suppose you take the time when you have it. The air is cooler at night."

"If he doesn't come back soon, we could organize a search party."

"I don't think that will be necessary, Mr. Barrow." She closed the conversation. "Good night, Mr. Barrow."

"Good night, Mrs. Hughes."

Elsie decided to partake in a spot of tea to occupy her while she waited and to cover her latest foray to the door. She poured a cup from the pot in the servant's hall. The tea was cold, bitter and astringent, but she did not mind. Miss Baxter and Mr. Molesley were playing a quiet game of cards at the far end of the table. _The Ladies must still be out then_, Elsie thought distractedly.

Tired of running relay between the back door and her office, she decided to wait in Mr. Carson's office. He was a creature of habit and she knew he would come to check that the lights were out before he retired for the night. She curled up in his leather chair, her feet pulled under her. She tried to read his novel, which was sitting within her reach, but soon, she was dozing in the soft embrace of the worn leather that smelled like butler.

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**A/N I was glad the last chapter elicited such a response, but some of you seemed a little desperate, so I wanted to assure you that this is just a bump in the road. It's a big bump! But it's a long road.**

**Chelsie On!**


	25. Chapter 25

**A/N If you missed any of yesterday's 3 updates, go back now! **

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Charles' long and determined strides carried him blocks away from Grantham House in a trice. After an half hour of stalking the streets randomly, he was sweating and flushed. His breathing was ragged and he felt lightheaded. His body told him he could not keep this up forever. His mind was not concerned with such trivial matters. His mind was occupied with a thousand questions, chief among them, 'How was he ever going to face her again?'

Now that she knew his great shame, she would never see him in the same light again. She had absorbed the news of his days on the stage without too much fuss. And she had even handled learning about Alice with her usual grace. But this was different. In those instances, he might have appeared ridiculous, but this revelation made him pitiful. And Elsie didn't even know half of the story. She only knew what Mrs. Nettles had told Mrs. Patmore. Mrs. Nettles had been there for less than a year. It so happened that was the best year of the seven he had served in that accursed house. Charles knew Elsie would insist upon hearing it all. The prospect of telling her was something he could not contemplate without a deep humiliation.

Finally, he did slow his pace as he gradually became aware that he was in a part of town with which he was unfamiliar. This did not worry him at all as he could see the river a few blocks away. You were never too lost in London if you could find the river.

Though it was obviously not a dangerous part of town, it did not seem reputable. The occupants of the street had changed from the occasional respectable couple to the more frequent solicitous 'lady'. Charles realized how he must look, dressed in his white vest and tie, walking the streets in an angry fit. The women of ill repute were drawn to him like alley cats to catnip. They smelled pungently, like a bottle of corked wine or a spoiled barrel of fruit. He could smell them before he saw them, wrinkling his nose at the cloying stench. Some of them boldly pawed at him, but most were content to linger in the unmarked doorways, plying him with what they considered seductive offers in their gutter accents.

"Fancy a go, guv?"

"I can makes you feel good."

"She ain't wurf it, luv."

Upon hearing this last, Charles bristled at the idea that any of these women would presume to speak about Elsie. She was a respectable woman; a woman who would probably offer these women more respect than they gave to themselves. Not that they would value that respect as it deserved. But he had lost that respect. The idea tore at him like a starving dog gnawing at a bone.

Finally, Charles realized that he could not continue to wander aimlessly. There were many pubs around Grantham House, but he was known there and could not show up in his present state. Besides, the pubs would be closing soon and something instinctively told him that alcohol would be a bad decision just now. He could not return to Grantham House, she would be waiting for him. He stuffed his hands deep in his pockets in frustration. He felt the key there. An absurd idea occurred to him. _Why not?_ He thought. It was technically against the rules, but then he found that he did not care about the blasted rules.

-00-

It was well after midnight when the Bates' returned from their evening out. Anna had wanted to go somewhere special. Elsie had recommended the Jeweled Nightingale. They had enjoyed it very much. John was not much of a dancer, but they'd gotten a table near the band and had watched the other dancers while listening to the music. John did not drink, but Anna tried the French 75 Elsie had mentioned. Near the end of their time at the club, a tipsy Anna had managed to talk John into 'dancing' in the darkly lit ballroom where the dance steps were less important than the act of holding each other. "I could become quite the dancer if it were all like this." He had whispered in her ear, making her giggle.

They returned to find Miss Baxter and Mr. Molesley talking very closely, the cards long forgotten as the rest of the staff had retired and their pretense became needless. Anna offered to take over the vigil for Lady Mary and Lady Rose, but Miss Baxter would not hear of it. Smiling meaningfully to John, Anna thanked her and the married couple left the courting couple in peace. Maybe they weren't exactly courting _yet_, Anna realized, but she suspected they soon would be.

John and Anna had been given the bedroom reserved for the cook. It was the only staff bedroom not located in the divided attic. Mrs. Patmore insisted that she did not mind the stairs and took an attic room like her room at Downton. This downstairs bedroom was near the laundry, so John and Anna passed by Mr. Carson's office on their way to their room. They had planned to stop by Mrs. Hughes' office to see if she was in and to thank her, but they paused when they saw the light in Mr. Carson's office and noted that the door was slightly open.

Anna peeked into the room and smiled at the sight that greeted her. Dear Mrs. Hughes was curled in Mr. Carson's great chair like a child in a fairytale. She looked just right, Anna giggled to herself. Perhaps she was still a little tipsy. It was surprising to find the housekeeper sleeping here, but it also was not completely unexpected. Anna nodded for John to go on to their room. After he had gone, she entered the office and knelt before the chair. Gently, she shook Elsie awake.

For a moment, it was clear that Elsie did not know where she was, "Charles?" she asked upon waking. But soon the veil of sleep was fully lifted. She sat up straight and smiled sleepily at Anna, taking the younger woman's hand in a motherly way. "Did you have an enjoyable night?"

"Very. Thank you for the recommendation. I never thought John would enjoy a dance club, but he did."

"I am glad." Anna saw a hint of sadness in Elsie's smile. She knew better than to ask why, but something she had recently seen suddenly made sense.

"Do you know, John and I saw the oddest thing just now?"

"Did you?"

"You've not lost anything, by chance, have you?"

Elsie curiously considered Anna as she cautiously said, "It is entire possible that I have."

"Well, I think I know where you can find it."

-00-

"Oh for goodness sake, Charles, unlock the gate!"

She had found him just where Anna had told her, in the private park opposite Grantham House, sitting on a bench near a corner. The park was accessible only by several locked gates. Elsie knew the Grantham House door key could open each of these gates. It explained how he had gained access, but Elsie could not understand why he had come here.

She knew he could hear her, but he'd yet to respond to her entreaties. Desperate to reach him, she tried a new tactic. "You aren't even supposed to be in there. It's against the rules. This park is for residents only!"

"And am I not a resident?" She was surprised by the bitterness in his voice, but at least he was talking to her.

"No. You are a servant. There is a difference."

There was a deep growl from the darkness. Elsie suspected he did not like being reminded that he was anything less than a free man. Hadn't he just said that he wanted to do things because he wanted to and not because he was expected to? Every normal servant occasionally resents the confines of the system, but Charles had never shown it before. She did not think it would help things if she pointed out the irony of his current situation, locked inside a private park. Elsie stuck with the strict approach. "Charles Carson, you either come out here or let me in!"

"Just leave me be. I need some time."

"You've had quite enough time for your sulking, Charles. We need to talk and I'd rather not yell our business across the park."

"Then don't yell." He returned childishly.

_Exasperating man!_ "Don't make me!"

Charles stood and slouched deeper into the park. He was only a shadow to her, but she could see his shoulders were hunched and his hands were stuffed into his pockets. The park was only one block wide and one two blocks long, so there wasn't really much further in to go. Elsie hurried around the corner where she could follow him along the park. "Charles," she called in a hissed whisper that carried in the night, "I know you are upset. You have every right to be, but please talk to me."

"Beryl should not have told you." He said simply.

"No, she should not, but do not blame her. I pressed her into telling me. You know how she is with secrets and you know I could not rest until I knew what she knew."

"I know you are both insufferable busybodies who could stand a lesson in privacy."

"You said you were trying to be flattered by my curiosity." She reminded him, hoping remembering their walk at the beach would soften his mood.

"The operative word there would be _'trying'_." He grumbled, but he wasn't yelling anymore.

"We both feel the same way we did a few hours ago, Charles. Nothing has changed."

That provoked a response. His steps turned directly toward her and he advanced aggressively towards the fence. "How can you say that?" His voice was full of anger and pain. "You can't honestly expect me to believe you when you say that."

Watching his ferocity through the bars of the fence, Elsie could not help but take a step back. He looked like a bear at the zoo. There was a fear that he might reach through and one was not meant to feed the bears. "What do you think has changed, Charles?"

"Everything! Only a few short hours ago, you still respected me." He began to stalk back and forth exactly like a caged animal.

"I respect you now!"

"No. No you don't! You can't respect someone that you pity."

"I don't pity you."

"Don't deny it. I can see it in your face."

"I won't deny that I feel pity."

Charles grunted and gestured in a triumphant 'I told you so' manner.

"But the pity you saw is for a little boy sixty years ago. Because I _do_ pity him and I hate the people who hurt and abandoned him!" Charles flinched at the word 'abandoned'. "But you aren't that little boy anymore, Charles! You are a grown man. If only you'd act like it!"

He growled, but stopped pacing.

"Charles, you are a man who overcame a difficult start and became one of the most respected butlers in Yorkshire; if not all of England."

"You don't have to exaggerate." He protested weakly. "Surely not _all_ of England."

She knew she was softening him up now. Elsie hoped he could not see her self-satisfied smile in the darkness. _You can always rely on a man's ego._ They had come to another gate of the park. "Now open the gate, Charles, and let's discuss this like adults."

But it was still too soon for him to let her in. He was suddenly angry again. "Why don't you just _break_ in? You seem to have a knack for putting your nose in where you are not invited!"

"That's only because you insist on keeping me locked out!" Her own anger was awakening now. She had come to one of the large plane trees that grew outside the park behind low wrought iron fencing. One of its branches hung over the high fence into the gated park. Tired of trying to reason with this bullheaded man, Elsie made a bold decision. She stepped over the little fence and looked up into the tree.

"Are you mad?" She heard the panic in his voice and was glad. It spurred her on. "What are you doing, woman?"

"What does it look like I am doing, you daft man?" Elsie placed her foot on a knot on the tree and grabbed a low hanging branch.

"It looks like you have lost your wits and are trying to climb a tree!" Charles was at the fence now, watching her in fascinated horror.

"Yes, and I would appreciate it if you did not distract me." She gritted her teeth in concentration as she pulled herself up to the next branch. Her shoes were slippery on the bark of the tree. Finding a good toe hold in the dark was not easy.

"Elsie, for God's sake, stop this! Stop or you are going to hurt yourself."

"That's very likely," was all the answer she gave as she considered her next move. She'd not climbed a tree since she was very young, but she'd once been very good at it. The problem was, in this darkness, she could not plan ahead and she suspected she had already climbed herself to a dead end only six feet off the ground. Logic would dictate back tracking and trying another route. Elsie felt obstinate and did not feel like back tracking.

Charles saw her dilemma and feared she was just stubborn enough to continue climbing when it was obviously not safe. "Elsie! Come down from there! I'll open the gate, just come down!"

A very relieved Elsie Hughes slid roughly down from her perch. Charles had hung the key on the fence and backed away. She took the key and walked back to the gate. He did not walk back towards her, but remained in his place as he waited for her to unlock the gate and enter the park.

TBC...

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**This is likely the only update today. The next chapter will definitly post by tomorrow, but I won't rush it because the next chapter is ...THE TALK! **

**Thanks for all the reviews, I hope I've not shattered too many hearts or sprung too many feels;)**


	26. Chapter 26

The gate clicked behind her. They were now locked into the park together, away from the rest of the world. Elsie approached Charles cautiously, as one would a wounded animal that was still dangerous. When she was still a few feet away from him, he turned and began to walk. She accepted this distance he had defined and walked silently beside him.

His hands were thrust in his pockets still, prompting her to think incongruously, _I didn't even know those pants had pockets. _ It was such a natural action, but she was certain she had never seen him with his hands in them before tonight. His posture was that of a deflated man.

She realized that he was walking towards a bench near the middle of the park. They would be furthest away from both fences there. He sat on the extreme right of the bench and she mirrored him on the extreme left. They were roughly the same distance apart as they would be in her sitting room back at Downton. Only here, there was no table between them. There was only their own stubbornness separating them.

After exchanging frustrated sighs with him for a few minutes, Elsie decided to open the discussion with a bit of levity. "At least I know you are not angry enough to let me break my neck."

"I am not angry with you at all." _I just can't face you right now._

"Well, you could have fooled me."

"Then you don't know the difference between anger and embarrassment." He said gruffly.

"Just as you don't seem to know the difference between pity and compassion." She countered. This was not off to a very good start. "I'm sorry, Charles, but sometimes you are a very frustrating man." _To love._

"I know I must be a disappointment to you." He had meant for it to sound sarcastic, but in reality it came out as apologetic.

"Sometimes." She answered honestly. "But not because of something that was done to you so long ago. I am only ever disappointed when I know you are keeping something from me."

This confused him. "I don't understand. There isn't much in my life worth hiding. And there is even less that I keep from you. You know me better than anyone. Can you not be content with that?"

"No. I've tried to be, but I am not content any more, Charles." She was surprised to hear herself say this, but she knew it was true. "Maybe if we hadn't had the past few days, I could still be content, but you showed me there is still so much I don't know about you. Maybe I could be happy with a shallow relationship if I hadn't waded in deeper."

"Is that why you want to know about my childhood?"

"Yes, I want to know the depths of you, not just the surface. Because I care about you. People who care for each other share this sort of information, Charles. It's called a relationship."

He seemed to be absorbing her confession, but eventually shook his head. "And would a relationship include telling someone when you might be fatally ill or trusting someone to share that burden with you?" He asked pointedly.

Elsie had anticipated that he might throw this in her face. They'd never spoken of those terrible months when the specter of Death had haunted her every moment, waking and sleeping. "It does and I have no explanation for why I kept that from you except to say that it was one of the darkest points in my life and I was frightened."

"And do you suppose it was all rainbows and gumdrops for me? Not only to know that you might…" He couldn't say the word even now, even knowing that she was not ill. "But to realize that you didn't trust me enough to confide in me! I had to trick Dr. Clarkson and Mrs. Patmore in order to learn the very little that I did. I should have been angry with you then, but I was so worried…and then I was just so relieved."

"That wasn't about trust." Elsie tried to explain. "Your respect meant, _means _so much to me. I couldn't stand to lose that _and_ my life. When I discovered I was not ill, I saw no point in discussing it with you."

"No point? I see. But there's a point in dredging up my lousy childhood?" He demanded. Then he asked the question she feared he would ask, because she could not honestly know the answer. "Would you have trusted me to help you? Would you have even told me the truth if you _had_ been ill?"

She laughed nervously, knowing it was the wrong thing, but unable to stop herself. "I would have had to. Eventually."

That was the last straw for him. Charles jumped up from the bench. "I'm glad to know telling me that you might die is such a joke to you!" He stormed away.

"Charles! That is not fair!" She chased after him and grabbed him by the arm to force him to face her. He was astonished by her strength. "Losing your respect is no joking matter to me! I'd rather lose my life than that! I needed you to see me as a strong and vibrant woman, even if I wasn't. I could not have you pity me!" She was near tears, but she would not let them fall. The fear and uncertainty of that time was still fresh and frightening to her.

"Then you can understand how I feel now. I need _your_ respect, not your pity or your compassion or whatever name you want to put on it. Whatever my father did or did not do was sixty years ago. It shouldn't matter now."

"You _have_ my respect. But if what happened doesn't matter then why are you still so afraid to face it?"

"Afraid? I am not afraid!" His voice rose as he lied. "I just don't see what's to be gained in reliving the past when nothing can be changed! This is not a case where you can just push and push and I'll finally see the light and everything will be healed! This is not like Grigg or Alice."

"No. It isn't." Her admission stilled his anger. "That was a _wound._ This is a _scar_. You cannot heal a scar, but you can acknowledge how it's shaped you. You can share the story of how you got that scar with people who care about you."

She dared to take his hand and was relieved when he let her. "You would not be who you are without your past. I want to understand who you _are_, Charles Carson, not who you want the world to _think_ you are." In the moonlight filtered through the leaves, she could see his fierce features soften. Still holding his hand, she led him gently towards another bench.

"But a man should be allowed to share his past in his own time." He pouted as he allowed her to guide him.

"Ideally, but _your_ own time would be next century." She joked and leaned into him, bumping his arm with her shoulder, to show that her jest was not meant meanly.

He smiled sadly down at her but seemed to reach a decision. "Do you really want to know everything?"

"I do."

"It's not a pleasant story." He warned in a sad whisper.

"No." She whispered back. "I don't expect it is."

TBC...

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**A/N This is a short one, and the rest of the scene is coming anon, but this was a natural break. Next chapter is the full story of Charlie Carson's childhood. Note to Chelsie Fan, your patience will be rewarded very soon;)**


	27. Chapter 27

**Charlie's story (Part 1)**

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They settled on a bench, much closer this time, though there was still space between them. Elsie sensed that he still needed that separation.

They were not touching, but he knew she was close. Charles was grateful for the darkness. He did not think he could tell her the whole story if he had to see her reaction on her face.

At first, his words came slowly and reluctantly. "Mrs. Nettles and Mrs. Patmore don't know everything. They know my father signed me over as an indentured servant when I was seven and things were bad those first few years. But after Mrs. Nettles left, things got progressively worse. As I grew older I realized that I wasn't treated like the other servants. I didn't get half days, I never received any wages, I wasn't allowed to attend school and everyone, even the scullery maid, looked down on me.

"My mother would visit me on my birthday and at Christmas. Sometimes she would add a note to my father's monthly letter, but I don't think she could bring herself to attach her name to his lies. His letters were always the same, 'Be a good lad, do as you're told, we'll bring you home soon.' Empty words, I knew, but I never dreamed _how_ empty.

"On my tenth birthday, my mother visited as always, but she seemed more cheerful than usual. She told me the whole truth about the indenture. She also told me that she'd almost saved enough money to buy the last two years of my contract. She'd been working her fingers to the bone and had hidden the money from my father. That's when I noticed how frail and thin she was. I probably weighed more than she did at that point."

He paused here and took a deep breath.

"I offered to steal some of the silver to sell in the village to raise the last of the money. She was not happy with that suggestion. She told me, 'No matter how low you think your fortunes are, you should never sell your principles. You cannot remedy one wrong with another.' So I continued to serve and waited for her to return for me.

"The next time I saw her, was three months later when she showed up to buy me back. She showed me the fifty pounds she'd saved. I'd never seen so much money. I didn't even know they_ issued_ ten pound notes. When she went upstairs to meet with the Lord, I went to my room to pack the few things that I had.

"This next part I learned from one of the footmen who listened into the whole thing, so I can't speak to the veracity, but it makes sense with what I do know. The footman was also a Charles, but they called me Charlie, so there wasn't any confusion. He was a good man and helped me learn my sums and tables." He paused his rambling here, unsure of how to continue.

Charles was starting to become self-conscious. He was not used to speaking so much about himself. He had never told anyone the story of his youth. Elsie nodded to encourage him and took his hand in both of hers. She could tell that he was obviously trying to avoid the next part of the story. He straightened his posture and continued the tale.

"Apparently, my mother presented the money to the Lord of the manor and declared her intention to buy out my contract. He said he would have to fetch his lawyer from the village and offered her tea while they waited. When the carriage returned from the village with the lawyer, my father was with him.

"When they arrived, the Lord accused my mother of stealing from my father. He said a married woman did not have the right to keep money from her husband. He said that, by law, that money belonged to my father.

"The Lord was not keen to lose labor that cost a fraction of what it should, so he offered my father a choice."

Elsie's blood ran cold now. She knew what he was going to say and she wanted to spare him the pain of saying it, but she knew this was something Charles had to do, despite the pain. She squeezed his hand to remind him that he was not alone.

"He could take his son or he could take the fifty pounds. I don't think I have to tell you which he chose."

A few silent tears spilled from Elsie's eyes and slid down the contours of her face. She felt them tickle her as they gathered on her chin but refused to fall. She fought the instinct to wipe them away. She did not want him to know she was crying.

"My mother went into hysterics. She attacked my father and demanded that the lawyer have the Lord arrested for kidnapping. Obviously, no one was about to do anything she demanded. She was escorted roughly off the estate. They wouldn't even let her come downstairs to tell me goodbye."

Charles fell silent, his labored breathing was the only sound in the still night. "And that's the worst of it." He tried to sound as though they'd reached the conclusion. Elsie knew better.

"But that's still not _all_ of it?" she asked gently.

"No. But you don't really want to hear it all tonight, do you?"

"I won't force you to continue if you aren't ready, but they say 'well begun is half done'. It might be_ easier_ to tell it all in one go."

Charles wasn't sure he could share any more. The rest was just the story of an angry boy and the consequences of that anger.

"It has been so long since I even tried to remember, some of the details are hazy."

"Just tell me what you_ can_ remember. Even if it's just bits and pieces."

He became aware of a gentle caress on his hand. He _had_ promised to tell Elsie everything, and Charles Carson kept his promises.

"I don't know if my father left with my mother or if he sat down for a brandy with the Lord before leaving. The latter seems more likely. I didn't see him on that visit. In fact, I never saw him at all, ever again. I never saw either of them again.

"While all of this was happening, I was sitting in the servant's hall with my bundle of clothes and a book Mrs. Nettles had given me when she left. I was so happy, that I didn't notice how long I'd been sitting there. I had no reason to doubt that she was taking me home. I had seen the money myself.

"A few of the hallboys tried to order me about and I ignored them. When the butler finally came down to scold me, I told him I didn't answer to him anymore. I told him my mother had come to take me home. You better believe he relished telling me that my mother had been thrown off the property and that I was not going anywhere.

"I called him a liar and still refused to move from my chair. He was not a man accustomed to being defied. He did not react well." _That was putting it lightly._ "I know you think I am sometimes harsh with the younger staff. I may bluster and blow, but I have never raised my hand to anyone and I have always striven to be fair."

"And they respect you for that, as do I." She assured him. "What did he do?"

"He didn't even take time to fetch the lash. He punched and slapped me and when his hands began to ache, he used the book to beat me. When the book tore, he grabbed a pan. When I fell off the chair, he kicked me. Finally two of the footmen dragged him away, but he was still raving like a mad man.

"It's odd. I remember being more startled than hurt. I remember seeing that man for what he was, little and frightened. If a ten year old boy saying 'No' could unhinge him like that, all the authority he claimed was empty and we both knew it. I saw the looks on the others' faces. They knew it too. They didn't respect him. Many of them feared him, but it wasn't respect.

"I was not seriously hurt. My sides ached for a few weeks, but one of the housemaids showed me how to wrap a cloth around myself to keep them from hurting too much."

Elsie understood this to mean that he had suffered at least one broken rib, maybe more.

"Things went downhill from there."

Elsie could not help but gasp. "How could they get any _worse_?"

"I began to revolt. I didn't see why I should pay for my father's debt and I had no respect for the butler, so I stopped obeying. I did my routine work and helped out the maids or the hall boys who were my friends. I didn't want them to be given more work because of me, but any time the butler asked me directly for anything, I refused. This usually resulted in a lashing but physical pain didn't seem to bother me. Of course, this only made him angrier. So he took away my access to books and threatened anyone who helped me with my education. I didn't want to get them into trouble, so I didn't ask anyone to defy him for me, but I found ways.

"This lasted for about two months. I hadn't heard from either my father or my mother. My sides didn't hurt anymore and I wasn't being watched as closely, so I ran away. I took nothing with me because I didn't want to be accused of stealing. I made it to the village where I found my way to the inn where my mother had worked. The innkeepers, the Ungers, were good people and they gave me something to eat. They told me that my mother had left my father and moved back south to live with my grandfather who was retired.

"I walked for four days before the authorities picked me up. They would have found me sooner, but I got lost and headed east before I headed south. My father had told them I was likely to try and reach my mother. They staked out the road leading to the estate where my grandfather lived and I walked right to them.

"That was as thorough a beating as I ever received. The Lord himself administered some of the blows, the sadistic old bast… I'm sorry, that was uncalled for."

"No, I think it is called for. He sounds like a sick bastard, right enough." Though the darkness still covered them, her indignation on his behalf flowed to him through her voice.

Charles gave her an appreciative smile in the filtered moonlight and a sad sigh.

"It was a week before I could work again. After that, I was locked in my room whenever I was not working. But I still refused to obey the butler. Other servants were starting to defy him as well. The house was destabilizing from the bottom up. I witnessed firsthand how one bad apple can spoil the barrel. I was that bad apple.

"A few months later I received a letter from my grandfather telling me that my mother was dead. From what I could gather years later, she'd tried to find a way to buy me, but my grandfather was not well and they didn't have enough money. The Unger's said she'd offered to sign an indenture for me, to take my place, but the Lord said he didn't need another maid. Finally, she turned to drink to help her forget how she felt she'd failed me. Her health deteriorated further and she was killed by a harmless fever she contracted working at a tavern.

"The Lord and the butler kept my grandfather's letter from me until after the funeral had occurred.

"Eventually, the subtle downstairs mutiny drove the old butler into early retirement. The next butler was strict, but he was not cruel. I decided to play along for the last few years of my contract. It was not as though I had somewhere to go. My grandfather was not well and could not have taken me and I certainly wasn't going back to my father. Now that I was able to pursue my studies again, it wasn't a bad house in which to work."

Charles paused here. The worst was past and she was still here, holding his hand. He could feel that telling this story to her was a cleansing for him, a purge of his oldest pains. It felt good to share this burden. He thought he was beginning to understand the difference between pity and compassion. Charles looked down at her in the dappled light and smiled. There was not much more to tell of the past and then, perhaps, they could discuss the present. With a deep breath, Charles prepared to finish his story and leave the past behind once and for all.

TBC...

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**A/N Thank you for the reviews, I've not had time to reply, but here is half of what I promised. Your patience will be rewarded VERY SOON.**


	28. Chapter 28

**A/N Thank you for your impatient patience, I hope this suits.**

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The little that Charles had left to tell was nothing compared to what had already been told. His words were quicker now, surer. "When I was twelve, I knew the contract would be up soon. I was called upstairs to meet with the Lord. His lawyer was there and there was a small piece of vellum on the desk. I was told that my original term of service was done, but there were some adjustments that needed to be made. They'd documented every day that I'd been ill, whether from a cold or from a beating. They'd deducted the days my mother had visited and the days when I'd run away, but all these together barely equaled an additional month.

"I'm not sure if you are aware, but most indentures end with the servant receiving a small payment to start their new life. Since my father's contract was to pay a debt, this was not the case with me. In fact, they presented me with a bill for five years' worth of room and board. By their calculation, I owed them seventy pounds.

"Knowing I would not have that amount of money, they had taken the liberty of drawing up a contract for three more years of service. I am sure they thought I would be intimidated into signing the contract without any argument, but they were mistaken. You mock my love of Dickens, Elsie, but it served me well that day. From my extensive reading of Mr. Dickens' work, I had a pretty clear idea of how shady lawyers and greedy men could prey on the innocent. In fact, the book Mrs. Nettles had left me, the one I was beaten with, was Nicholas Nickleby." Charles chuckled at the irony. It was a sound incongruous with his story, but it cheered Elsie to hear it.

"I refused to sign the document. I agreed to serve out the extra month, but told them I would find another way to pay my room and board. I didn't have any idea where I would get that kind of money. I was just stalling for time. One of the maids suggested that I consult a lawyer. There was one in town who knew my mother from when she worked at the inn. His name was Steven Fields, esquire. When I was able to reach him, he offered to help me for free. Mr. Fields said my mother had often spoken to him about me and my predicament and he wished to help me for her sake.

"At the end of my month, my lawyer and I met with the Lord and his lawyer to present a counter proposal. I would serve two more years and at the end of that term, I would receive my release along with ten pounds. Also, I would be allowed to attend the local school three days a week. They agreed to our terms. I think Mr. Fields pointed out that if they insisted on going to court, I would likely be granted my release outright."

"And didn't you want that?" Elsie wondered. It seemed strange that he would not fight the Lord in court if it could secure his freedom.

"Not so long as my father was alive. They would have released me back into his custody. I was better off at the estate with a respectable job. Who knows what my father would have expected of me. With the new butler, things were not so bad. And at the end of the time, I would have money in my pocket to help me get away from my father.

"Those last years went quickly. I learnt everything I could, both at school and downstairs. When I was released, I had a choice of several postings. The advantage of working for a terrible master is a lot of people come and go. You make a lot of connections. Once my letters weren't being intercepted, I reconnected with several old staff members. Mrs. Nettles was one of them. The house where she was working needed a hall boy. That house was Downton Abbey. And that, as they say, is that."

He sighed. Charles felt a mixture of exhaustion and euphoria, as one feels when a fever has broken.

"I still don't understand how you thought this could make me lose my respect for you." Elsie questioned.

"It has always been my shameful past, something I hoped people would never find out about. I was no better than a slave."

"It is shameful, but the shame was never yours," she reminded him.

He shrugged noncommittally. "I don't suppose I've ever bothered to think of it that rationally. I tried not to think of it at all, let alone speak of it. Thank you for listening, Elsie. I feel like a burden has been lifted off my shoulders. A weight that I never knew I carried."

"I am grateful that you shared it with me, Charles. Though I admit I might have taken the act of persuasion too far. I did have to apply a little pressure."

"A _little_ pressure?" He asked, incredulous and smiling.

"Just a wee bit, but it was worth it. I feel like I understand you better now." Elsie still had some details she wished clarified. She suspected this would be her best chance, so she persisted gently. "You never mentioned the name of the estate."

"I don't see the need in that." His answer was short and definite.

"Even after how you were treated, you would protect their name? From me? Is your sense of duty so strong to them even now?"

"I am not protecting any family. The title has been passed several times since then and the estate was dismantled by the latest heir and sold off before the war."

"Then why not say the name?"

"Because naming the house or the Lord would perpetuate them when time has seen fit to erase them from existence."

Elsie did not follow his logic, but his resistance to naming the place and the Lord seemed nonnegotiable. "Did the Lord or the butler ever have to answer for what they did to you?"

"Not here on earth, but they've both met their Maker. If there is justice in Heaven, then they have answered for all their transgressions. I read in the paper several years after I left that the Lord fell down the grand staircase and broke his neck. There was some suspicion of foul play, but nothing came of it. Not too long after that, the butler was found dead in his cottage, an apparent suicide. One of the footman wrote to me and told me he'd been dead for two weeks before anyone thought to miss him."

This next question was much more personal. Elsie hesitated, but had to ask, "And what happened to your father? Or shouldn't I ask?"

"He died before I moved to Downton. I'm not exactly sure how or when. A letter simply arrived from the vicar telling me he was dead. I heard a rumor in the village that he had been stabbed, but I didn't ask for any details. It was enough for me that he was dead. I understand he was given a pauper's burial, which was better than he deserved."

Charles did not like the bitterness he heard in his voice. He felt he needed to explain it. "It may sound odd, but I don't hate my father for what he did to _me_. I do hate him for what he did to _her_. I've found that it is easy to forgive the worst transgressions that are committed against us. But it is near impossible to forgive even the slightest discomfort caused to the people we love."

"Yes, it is." Elsie fumed. Before hearing his story, she'd been planning to try to help Charles acknowledge and appreciate the good in his father. She didn't want Charles to carry that resentment she had heard in his voice with him any longer. Though she had always managed to find the best in people, Elsie was stymied by Carson senior. "You go ahead and hate your father for your mother's sake. Leave it to me to hate him for yours."

Elsie still clasped his hand on the bench between them. Charles placed his free hand over her two small hands. "Thank you for that, Elsie, but I won't ask you to hate anything or anyone for my sake."

"I am afraid it is out of either of our hands, Charles. I do hate the man. I won't let it consume me, but there is no denying that I hate him."

"If you cannot prevent it, then I will thank you and leave it there. Have you any more questions?"

"No. I know this has not been easy for you, but I hope you know I only pressed you because I care for you." He nodded at her words. "I will try to stop sneaking behind your back and learn to ask you things more directly. And I promise to be more open with you, but I must ask you to be more open with me. I want to know you with all your faults." _I love you still._

"Like the song?" He asked hopefully, knowing the rest of the lyrics.

"You _were _listening."

"Of course I was listening. I thought of you as soon as I heard the word 'boss'."

"Me?" She laughed indignantly. "You must be the bossiest person I know!"

"That was what you were laughing about?" He wondered.

"Yes."

"But I _am_ boss, I don't _try_ to be boss."

"That is splitting hairs, Charles, and you know it." She scolded him gently. "You will at least concede that you are sometimes cross."

"Sometimes, but not just now." Charles began to hum the tune as he stood and drew her up to stand before him. She obeyed his silent commands and allowed him to smoothly guide her in a languid dance. It was not like the last time they had danced to this song, two nights ago. That had been the bittersweet last dance of a magical evening. This felt like the smoothly choreographed steps of a dance that they had been perfecting together for decades and would always continue to perfect.

They moved away from the bench into a small pool of moonlight. He smiled down at her as he saw her face clearly for the first time since she had entered the park; she was a vision of angelic bliss. She could clearly see the sublime smile on his face. Charles' humming grew louder as he became more confident of the melody and as he approached the words he remembered. Finally, he began to outright sing.

"_I wandered around, and finally found - the somebody who  
Could make me be true, and could make me be blue  
And even be glad, just to be sad - thinking of you."_

He spun her slowly out until only their fingertips touched and then he spun her back into his arms. Elsie laughed as her hand on his chest was the only thing that kept her from crashing into him.

_"Some others I've seen, might never be mean.  
Might never be cross," _She raised her eyebrows accusingly, as he mock frowned defensively.

_"or try to be boss," _He smirked at her as she looked innocent in her turn.  
_"But they wouldn't do.  
For nobody else, gave me a thrill - with all my faults…" _

Charles stopped singing and looked at Elsie as she stood smiling before him. She noticed how he had changed the words. All the gentle teasing and jesting was gone from his expression. "I love you still," he whispered. The truth of these words crashed into him and washed over him like the wave had done at Brighton.

The words had been spoken. There was no denying or deflecting his feelings now that they'd been brought to light. The wall holding back his wave of emotions was well and truly breached. "I do love you, Elsie Hughes. I'm not sure how that will change things or if you feel the same, but I need you to know."

She looked up at him; her man, so serious, so intense. Elsie could not help but laugh. How could he possibly doubt that she felt the same way he did? "Be assured Charles Carson, the woman you love, loves you."

"Then that changes everything," Charles whispered. "I need to kiss you, Elsie." His voice was hoarse from nerves and husky with longing.

"Then you'd best be about it," she challenged, involuntarily licking her lips eagerly. He saw this and a new confidence filled him.

Across her lips, the warm, humid air of the night was replaced by his hot breath as he leaned closer to her. Their noses touched gently, and his progress stopped. His mind tried to catalogue every new sensation, every new intimacy. He felt her eyelashes tickle his cheek. He felt her sigh contentedly in his arms. He savored the anticipation as he stopped just short of kissing her. You could not have fit an angel's breath between their lips. Unable to defer his need any longer, Charles pressed his lips firmly to hers before pulling slightly back, brushing her lips teasingly with his. Then his lips returned forcefully to hers.

Elsie's whole body responded to his kiss. He varied the pressure he applied with his lips as they alternately crushed and tickled hers. Elsie's arms were trapped between them, her hands spread possessively across his chest. She felt his heart beating wildly. He felt her fingernails through his thin shirt as she grasped at his vest. She felt something like electricity flow through her body, its source deep inside her. It made her tingle and shudder.

Soon, his tongue joined his lips in teasing her. Her lips parted as she tried to whisper his name and she gasped as he captured her lower lip gently with his teeth. Laughing, her lips parted wider and her own tongue joined the dance, tasting him hungrily.

After some moments, they drew apart slowly. The entire kiss lasted only a fraction of time, but they were both left tingling from head to toe. Elsie shuddered with ecstatic joy. She had never dreamed that anything could be both teasing and satisfying; that any moment could be such equal parts promise and fulfillment.

Charles drew her closer and began to hum. They resumed their dance in the moonlight. Charles rejoined the song where he had left off. His words were interspersed with kisses; to her cheeks, her lips, and her neck.

_"It had to be you, wonderful you.  
It had to be you." _

Elsie remembered her dream from a few nights ago; embracing him in a moon lit garden with a nightingale singing. Her dream had become reality, but instead of a bird singing, it was a butler. This was far better than any dream. This was real.

TBC...

* * *

**A/N Sorry for the delay, it was unavoidable. In fact, I barely got 27 posted. Yesterday was crazy! **


	29. Chapter 29

Mary and Tony walked the last block to Grantham House reluctantly. A fine evening had been had, but they had run out of respectable things to do and it was time to return home. Rose and Lord Something or Other, as Mary thought of him, walked almost a hundred yards in front of them. Mary had decided to give up trying to remember the names of all the men with whom Rose became infatuated. She had long since decided to ignore the names of those who were infatuated with Rose.

Charles had been obliged to leave them early to attend to a family matter. Tony was trying to take not so subtle advantage of the absence of his rival. It had been his suggestion that they walk home rather than hire a cab. Rose had thought that jolly clever and had skipped off with Lord Something or Other in tow.

"I hope your family will be staying for the remainder of the Season."

"Grandmama is going home on Tuesday. But the rest of us are staying for at least one more month."

"Does the Dowager not enjoy the Season?"

"I think things move too quickly in London for her liking, but what bothers her most is that she is not the grand dame of everything. It is difficult to stand out. And often when you do, it is for reasons you would rather others forgot.

"I remember when she presented me. Looking at all the other girls waiting their turn to be presented, she shook her head and whispered to me, 'Too many stars, not enough sky.'"

Tony laughed appreciatively at this. Lady Violet Crawley certainly had a way with words. "She's perfectly correct. That describes the Season exactly. Though some stars do burn more brightly than others."

Before Mary could remind him he had promised not to compliment her so much anymore, Tony was distracted by something.

"I say, isn't that your butler?"

"What? Where?" Mary looked up the block towards Grantham House.

"There," Tony laughed and pointed toward the park, "dancing with that woman in the park."

Now it was Mary's turn to laugh. The very idea of Carson dancing with a woman in the park was ludicrous. But she glanced in the direction he had indicated. "Goodness, that certainly does look like him." She admitted in shock. _Poor Mrs. Hughes,_ Mary thought vaguely, but then she recognized the other silhouette in the moonlight. _Hmm. I stand corrected. Good for them._ Mary thought she heard music coming from the park.

As they watched, the couple, unaware that they were being observed, kissed each other deeply as they danced out of the moonlight and into the shadows.

Though she was curious and wished to continue to watch for the couple in the park, Mary forced herself to respect their privacy. She turned away and continued beside Tony.

"I must ask you to keep this to yourself, Tony."

"If you wish, but it is an odd way for servants to be carrying on." He was still chuckling.

Mary bit her tongue to keep from pointing out that he was hardly one to talk about the 'carryings on' of one's servants. After all, he still did not know all the details of that matter.

-00-

They'd danced back into the dark cover of the trees, where dancing had given way to kissing again. Elsie's legs felt weak. She felt sure that if he hadn't been holding her up, she would have slumped contentedly to the ground. He seemed to sense her grow heavy in his arms and ceased the leg liquefying ministrations of his lips. She regained her balance, but almost lost it again when he released her and began to remove his coat.

"Do you know one of the things I like best about this park?" He asked, standing before her in his shirtsleeves and vest as he had on the beach.

"What?"

"We aren't likely to be interrupted." His voice was deeper than normal, making the words sound very suggestive.

"Charles!"

Elsie blushed so deeply, she was sure he could feel the heat of her cheeks in the darkness. _What exactly is he proposing?_ Thankfully, before Elsie could throw pride and propriety to the wind, he spread his coat upon the grass and indicated that she should sit. "I'm not sure how long I can hold you up, love. Perhaps we should sit so we can concentrate properly on each other."

Laughing to herself she sat down quickly.

"If I had my way, I'd keep you in a tower, far away from anyone who might ever interrupt us or take you away from me." He said, lowering himself to the ground.

She giggled at this romantic confession. It was so unlike her butler, but so like her Charles. "Wouldn't I get lonely in that tower?"

"Why should you be lonely, love? I'd be locked in there with you."

"I like when you call me 'love.'" She wrapped her arms around him as soon as he settled by her side.

"It's always been you, love." He began to concentrate on the spot behind her ear and along her neck.

Trying to regain her composure, Elsie attempted to tease him. "That is a sweet thing to say, Charles, and people often do, but that is nonsense. You cannot have loved me always because we have not_ known_ each other always."

"Who's to say?" He had moved to the other ear and the other side of her neck.

"_I_ say, you daft man. I've not known you forever, though I wish I had."

The nibbling on her ear stopped as he whispered, "But I've always known you, Elsie. Time didn't start for me until I met you."

_Really, lass, who can argue with that?_ Her head finally admitted. She took his face in her hands and pulled his lips to hers as she reclined back onto his coat. His body followed hers, covering her and protecting her. He braced his weight with his arms placed either side of her. Though he loomed over her, he was the vulnerable one with his soft underbelly exposed. Her hands unbuttoned his vest and began to roam his chest in tight circles.

He grunted as he pulled her closely to him with one hand and rolled over onto his back. "You must stop that, Elsie."

"Why? Are you ticklish?"

"I used to be, but no one has been bold or foolish enough to find out since I was a boy."

Elsie settled on her side to lie facing him as he lay on his back still. She brushed his hair back from his face, picturing that young boy who had grown through so much to become the man she loved.

"Tell me something happy from your childhood, Charles." She prompted. "There must be something."

He put his arm up to allow her to nestle closer to him then wrapped it around her. Elsie lay her head upon his chest. "There are a few. I can remember visiting my grandfather and riding the horses."

"Before you were seven? Is that even safe?"

"Well they were only ponies, but I thought they were horses at the time. That's what my grandfather told me, anyway. My grandfather was a large, imposing man of few words. All the staff who worked for him were near terrified of him, but he was kind beneath it and always had a smile for me."

"He sounds rather like someone I know." Elsie kissed him lightly on the cheek in case he had any doubts who she meant.

"Humph, I'm a puppy dog compared to my grandfather. No one is terrified of me." He felt her shake her head as it returned to his chest. When she did not contradict him verbally, he decided to claim a victory and move on. "Almost every memory of my mother before I went into service is good; a little bittersweet, but still good."

"Such as?"

"I used to help her with the laundry."

"That's a happy memory? I used to help my mother too, but it doesn't count as a very pleasant memory."

"But my mother made a game of it. She would fill the wash tub with linens and soapy water. I would take off my shoes and socks and roll my short pants up as high as they would go. Then, she would place me in the tub. I would stomp around in the sudsy water as she hummed a marching tune. Sometimes she would give me a broom handle to hold like a gun as I marched around the tub. I thought it was a jolly game. I had no idea that I was helping cut her work in half."

Elsie closed her eyes and could see little Charlie Carson marching his way through the laundry, simultaneously splashing and serious. She remembered how he, as a grown man, had splashed purposefully through the surf to retrieve her hat. She traced a lazy circle on his stomach with one finger.

"I used to help her at the inn as well. While she changed the bedding, I would shake out the curtains, check the drawers, straighten the desk and chairs and trim the candle wicks. I had rather an eye for details even then." Beneath her head, his chest swelled with pride.

"I'm sure you did." She chuckled, still tracing her finger round and round his torso.

"But my true gift was for pillow cases."

"Pillow cases?" This startled her so much that she sat up to look down at him.

"I could change a pillow case like that." He snapped his fingers between them, smiling broadly. "Even when the pillow was as large as I was. Sometimes the pillow would block me entirely from view. I'm sure all she could see were the tops of my feet and my hands."

Elsie laughed at this picture too. She sat there, on his coat watching him fondly reminisce. He sat up to face her, telling the story with animated gestures.

"If we were almost done for the day or ahead of schedule, she would cry out, 'Goodness! That pillow has eaten Charlie! Whatever shall I do?' Then, she would grab hold of me, the pillow still pressed between us, and throw me on the bed.

"She'd say, 'I shall have to tickle this pillow until it spits Charlie out again.' And she would do precisely that. She would tickle me until I was screaming and crying with laughter. Then she would gather me in her arms and swing me about the room as though she'd just saved me."

Charles was still smiling, but, for the first time tonight, tears glistened in his eyes and wetted his cheeks. Memories of joy had done what the distant shadows of pain could not. "I was probably no older than five at the time. I have not thought of that in years. I have not thought of her properly in years."

Elsie moved closer to him and wrapped him in her arms. He leaned his head gratefully against her shoulder. "I pushed everything about her out of my mind because of how things ended. But there were good times too."

"You said that you could not attend the funeral, but did you ever visit her grave?"

"No. I know the churchyard where she is buried, but I doubt there is a headstone."

"The church would have records."

"Yes. You are right, as always. Do you never get tired of being right?" He teased, wiping away his tears with the back of his hand in a very un-Carson gesture.

"I never tire of being told that I am right." Elsie admitted.

He laughed at this, but took her hand earnestly. "I owe you so much, Elsie. You've given me back my memories of my mother. I can never repay that."

"You might be able to, if you just answer a simple question."

"What is that?"

"Are you still ticklish?"

"I told you…ELSIE!" His voice jumped as Elsie reached underneath his vest and began to tickle his sides with her nails and fingers. _Apparently, the answer is 'yes',_ she thought as tears of laughter replaced his tears of nostalgia.

-00-

When Elsie had allowed him to recover his breath, Charles lay on his back looking up through the leaves. Elsie was snuggled once more beside him. "Elsie, love, we've spent tonight talking all about me. When we return to Downton, I would rather hear more about my favorite subject; you. There is still so much I don't know about you."

"My life has not been nearly as eventful as yours. It may be very boring in comparison."

"I want this relationship to work both ways, Elsie. I want you to feel you can share the low points in your life as well as the high."

She understood exactly what he was referring to. "I promise we will talk about my lowest point when we return to Downton."

"We can talk about it whenever you wish. But I want to know it all. Most of all, I want to hear about the sprightly lass who ran across the hills of Argyll looking for trees to climb."

Elsie laughed and swatted at him playfully.

"They do have hills in Argyll, do they not?" He asked, placing one hand over where she had hit his chest in a broad gesture of defensiveness.

"They have." She admitted laughingly.

"And trees?" His hand moved to her chin.

"Of course." He began to tilt her face towards him.

"And were you not a sprightly lass?" He kissed her forehead and continued to gently guide her head by her chin.

"I was." Her eyes met his. A spark seemed to pass between them in the warm night. The heat and the tingling of their first kiss still smoldered deep in the core of her body. "I still am."

"Then, as I said, I look forward to hearing the stories about the sprightly lass who ran across the hills of Argyll looking for trees to climb." Her lips were almost to his now. She only had a split second to tease him.

"Don't make me tickle you again." She threatened jokingly.

"Do as you will," he said before kissing her. As they lay, entangled on his coat, their laughter mingled together in a harmony, his deep and rumbling; hers light and sweet. Even their laughs belonged together.

TBC...

* * *

**A/N "Too many stars, not enough sky" is a quote from the Tori Amos song, 'Waitress' on 'Under the Pink'. I am still not sure what it means in the context of the song, but it was too good a line not to use. Since Violet or Beryl get all the good lines, I gave this one to Violet (via Mary).**

**These two work and can be so tender and perfect beyond the walls of Grantham House and Downton Abbey, I hope you've enjoyed it because i****t's back to Grantham House next chapter. **

**If you want the traditional 'happy ending' you should probably stop here. **

**If you, like me, enjoy the roller coaster, then stick with me. We're going back to the angsty stuff now. Not too angsty, but...You Have Been Warned;) **


	30. Chapter 30

"Do we _have_ to go back?" Elsie pouted, eyeing Grantham House across the street.

"Just for a few more days and then we'll be home." Charles promised, as he locked the gate behind them.

"We can just go home now and call them from the station." She suggested, more sincerely than she had intended.

"You see how quickly a household can be corrupted?" He chided her. "We let the housekeeper out past two for a few nights and she starts talking about running away."

"Not running _away_; running home." Elsie corrected him. "Downton is where we belong, not London. Though I shall always have a special place in my heart for the town, I thrive in the country."

"With the hills and the trees?" He kissed her temple as she frowned adorably.

"With my house and my butler." She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him, focusing on his bottom lip, which she kept in her teeth as she drew away.

He sighed and hugged her to him. "You know I shall have to be cross with you tomorrow."

"Why?" Elsie thought they were past the posturing phase.

"Because if I don't make an effort to be severe, the stupid grin on my face will give us away. I thought we agreed that we would rather figure things out on our own before we let people know." He noticed a piece of dried grass in her hair and removed it, letting his hand trail down her cheek as he lowered his arm.

"But we must tell Beryl. She'll be miserable until she knows that everything is well between us." She held his hand to her face and kissed his palm.

"I'll talk to her first thing tomorrow." Charles assured her. "Now, you should head back. If you can, signal that the coast is clear. If not, I'll let myself in after fifteen minutes."

Elsie turned to cross the street but thought better of it, turning back to him and fixing him in a very serious stare, her hand on her hips as though she was scolding a young maid. "Before I go, if you are going to be a big, mean bear tomorrow, I shall need one more kiss to sustain me."

"If you insist, love." His smile was that of a wolf, not a bear, as he reached down for her. Elsie rushed back into his arms and clasped her hands behind his head as he lifted her up and kissed her for a long minute, her feet dangling.

"I believe we are getting better at that, Mr. Carson." Elsie said as her feet settled back on the ground. Her tone was curt and professionally appraising, but her eyes twinkled. "And we weren't too bad to begin with."

"I have always said that perfect practice leads to perfect execution, Mrs. Hughes." He returned proudly.

"I do recall you saying that. If only I had known you were talking about kissing. I might have paid you more mind." She was already crossing the street as she tossed this barb over her shoulder.

Charles chuckled appreciatively and leaned back against the gate. He watched fondly as she disappeared down the steps to the servant's entrance. He regarded the front of Grantham House casually. He noted with satisfaction that all the curtains were uniformly drawn and all the lights were out. His house, his family and his staff were all tucked away and fast asleep. He would be handing his London house over to Thomas in a few days. The thought did not terrify him as much as it might once have done.

A trick of the light made him think he saw movement behind a curtain in one of the family rooms. Before he could calculate exactly which room, the stairway light flickered on and off.

Lady Mary Crawley stepped back away from the window. Had Carson seen her? For one terrifying moment, she thought he had, but he had simply walked deliberately across the street and out of her view, presumably returning to Grantham House via the servant's entrance.

-00-

"Why are you still up, Mr. Molesley, are the young ladies not in yet?"

"Oh, they came back almost an hour ago. I was waiting for you and Mr. Carson. Did you find him?"

"I did. He was just upset about something, but I think it's better now." Mr. Molesley's confused and intense gaze made Elsie grateful that she did not wear colour on her lips. She would have been a sight, indeed! She knew her hair was not entirely tidy, but considering it was three in the morning, that could have any number of explanations. She only hoped there was no more grass stuck in her hair. "He, apparently, has a key, so you may lock up and go to bed now, Mr. Molesley."

"He won't be angry?"

"I shouldn't think so. If it makes you feel better, I shall lock the door myself. Then, if he has any problem, he can take it up with me."

Molesley liked this idea very much and nodded his thanks as he handed Mrs. Hughes the upstairs key. "Thank you, Mrs. Hughes. Good night."

"Good night, Mr. Molesley." _That was too easy._ Say what you will about Mr. Molesley, there was something sweet about his guileless nature, Elsie decided. Sometimes he lacked the dignity that Mr. Carson prized so highly, but Elsie was glad she'd persuaded Charles to take the man back on. She still laughed to remember the look on Charles' face when he had given in.

Elsie went to the backdoor and toggled the light switch a few times, to signal Mr. Carson to return.

A short wait later, she heard him opening the door. He was startled to see her waiting there.

"I thought you'd have gone on up."

"And miss the chance to see you again?" She gave him a quick peck on the cheek and pressed the key into his hand. "Mr. Molesley gave me the front door key, I will let you return it to its proper place. Good night, my love."

"Good night, Elsie."

TBC…next week.

* * *

**A/N Sorry this is so short, but it was a natural break, so I'm stopping there today. I didn't want to leave too big a tease because updating will be delayed somewhat. **

**The next few weeks (weekends especially) are going to be nuts in my life [several short trips and a superbowl with a house full of rabid Seahawks fans, among other things]. I will try to update at least twice a week with longer chapters, but my computer access is going to be spotty and my attention needed elsewhere. Also, I need to catch up with my Chelsie fanfic reading and reviewing! I am aware of several ongoing stories that I am missing out on. **

**I was trying to wrap this by now, but this story continues to develop in my head. **

**One good thing about slower updates is that your reviews and PMs may influence the story more. It's roughed out, but I can focus on or drop certain characters or elements as people request. The only essential characters are Elsie and Charles. ****I know folks would like some 'M'-ness, but I can't promise anything more than some strongly suggestive 'T'. I shall have to trust your dirty little minds to fill in the rest;)  
**

**Here's a preview of what is to come...**

**We will get Mary's take on things and find out what Thomas thinks he knows and what he thinks he has to gain from that knowledge. And in the next chapter or so, we will meet Mrs. Butte. **

**I am taking the great liberty and casting the role, which will be played by the incomparable Ms. Imelda Staunton! She will not be as evil as Umbridge, nor as comic as Miss Pole, but she will have that same jumpy energy they both displayed. Hey, if Fellowes can pay Shirley Maclaine to basically sit around like window dressing, I can fantasy cast Imelda as my London housekeeper!**

**Next anticipated update, Tuesday, January 28th. Until then, Chelsie on!**


	31. Chapter 31

Mary lay sleepless on her bed, on the side nearest the door. In the warm night, she had not bothered to pull back the covers. Anna usually did that, but Baxter didn't know the routine and it had been she who attended to Mary this evening. _More's the pity._ Anna might have been able to shed some light on what Mary had witnessed between Carson and Mrs. Hughes. Anna certainly would have been a more sympathetic ear to Mary's ongoing dilemma. Baxter was efficient, but she was not a friend. There were too many questions in Mary's mind tonight to sleep.

Even before witnessing the two heads of household dancing in the park at two in the morning and kissing at the gate even later, Mary's head had been full of her own uncertain future. Charles and Tony had both 'happened' to have heard where they were dining and had both 'happened' to secure invitations from Rose's acquaintances. Mary wondered who their source had been. She was starting to feel the balance between irritating and beguiling tipping in the negative direction.

Could she not have just one evening without one or both of them begging for her attention? It made her miss George terribly. If there was anyone who had a right to demand such attention from her, it was her son, whom she had left in Yorkshire. He had to be left because Grantham House could barely contain the family party once Uncle Harold and Grandmother Levinson had arrived. Now that they had departed, Mary wondered if she ought to bring George to London. Another part of her wondered if she ought not to simply return to Downton. Though Charles and Tony were likely to follow her.

London was beginning to weary her, but not as much as Charles and Tony. Oddly, the unrelenting attentions of the two suitors made Mary think more fondly of the absent third. Evelyn had been soft spoken and self-deprecating ever since she had known him. In the arena of direct competition for her attention, his humble nature hurt him considerably. He was sensible enough to recognize this. Though his visit to France was legitimately work related, Mary suspected that someone else could have gone. Charles had as good as told her that Evelyn had volunteered.

That was another problem for Evelyn. It could not have been easy to realize that he shared an interest in the same woman as his boss. Faced with this challenge, Evelyn had dutifully retreated, as he had when she had capriciously thrown him over for Mr. Pamuk. Poor Evelyn seemed destined to always present her with options more intriguing to her than his steady self. Still, he had not quit the field entirely. In fact, his regular letters had become one of her favorite aspects of this Season. The letters were humorous and supportive and gentle, the traits she valued most in their author.

The thought of Evelyn and the Turk reminded Mary of yet another complication in her life. The rumor of her 'mishap' with the young man had made its rounds almost eight years ago. Evelyn knew of the rumors and probably suspected the truth of them, though he had never hinted as such or mentioned the incident to her since him telling her about Edith's involvement in the disclosure.

It was highly likely that Tony had heard the whispers and it was probable that someone in Charles' acquaintance had heard them as well. She had to assume that they both knew of the rumors. She was sure that they dismissed them as such. Was she obligated to disabuse them of this assumption?

Mary had felt compelled to be honest with Matthew about the scandal mainly because she needed to excuse her relationship with Carlisle. She had no such reason to address the issue with any of the current bevy of beau.

But that was not the question that really plagued her. She wondered if she had entertained their attentions too soon. Participating actively in the estate matters of Downton and in the raising of her child had been the right decision. Publicly, she was out of mourning and doing very well. But privately, there were still the lingering reminders of pain to keep the wound fresh. One of the things she found hardest to move past was where and how she slept.

When young Mary had moved out of the nursery, she'd slept in the middle of the bed. She'd been terrified those first silent nights. Mary had not realized how much comfort she found in the soft breathing of her two sisters. But she had come to accept the nighttime isolation and even to appreciate the over large bed. The space between her and the edges of the mattress were buffers against any fearful thing the night might hold.

This changed when she married. Then, she had been forced to pick a side and sleep closer to the edge. Matthew had instinctively chosen the side nearest the door. Mary thought it must have been a protective instinct and had found that adorable in her new husband.

Since Matthew's death, Mary had stayed mainly on her side of the bed. In those first months, during her worst moments of depression, she would lie on his side of the bed in an attempt to summon memories of his loving spirit. Even now, there were nights when her side of the bed seemed too cold and his side too empty. When this happened, she would move to his side of the bed seeking warmth and comfort there.

Anna could tell Mary's mood simply by seeing which side of the bed she had slept on the night before.

But all these pressing personal crises and melancholy reflections had been driven temporarily from her mind upon seeing the couple in the moonlight.

Mary's initial reaction had been one of shock and then joy, but now, the consequences of such a union were beginning to dawn on her. Mary knew she was being selfish, but she could not help but think of how this would affect her.

She'd never thought of Carson as a man. He was Carson. His support had been meant the world to a young girl whose father seemed put out that children did not spring, fully formed from his head. Though she loved her father terribly, Mary had to admit that Lord Grantham had very little use for children and even less so for girls.

So Carson had read young Mary children's stories and dried her tears. Carson had silently guided an intimidated teenager through dinner parties where she might have otherwise withered under the judgmental gaze of the neighbors and her own grandmother. Carson had poured her wine on hundreds of occasions, including her presentation ball and her wedding. Carson supported her unconditionally and never judged her decisions. Carson would never abandon her. Carson was a fixture in her life as surely as the great stone walls of Downton.

Though he could be tender, Mary saw Carson as a man of solid stone, not of flesh. Thinking of Carson courting someone was difficult enough. Thinking of Carson romancing Mrs. Hughes was almost as uncomfortable to Mary as receiving an offer of sexual advice from her mother on her wedding day. As disconcerting as the very idea was, Mary was more distressed to consider the prospect of Carson leaving her.

_Times are changing everywhere,_ Mary reminded herself. Perhaps Carson and Mrs. Hughes could be happy and both remain with the family. Mary was determined to find a way to bring this about if it was what Carson wanted. She decided that she would keep their secret for now. She would not confront him or Mrs. Hughes. But when the truth became known, she would support him in any way she could. The man had raised her and she would fight his corner.

In many ways, Mary was who she was because of Carson. It frightened her to think of Barrow having that level of influence over her George.

-00-

Choosing a side of the bed to sleep on was not an issue for Charles Carson. His large body filled his tiny bed as he lay beneath the crisp white sheet. He had fallen asleep almost the instant his head hit the pillow. Soon, he would be woken by sunlight filtering between the densely packed houses of London. For now, his dreams were filled with Elsie. In his slumber, they walked the great grass lawns of Downton hand in hand as the first tendrils of dawn's light reached into the Yorkshire sky, erasing the stars. He smiled in his sleep, confident that this dream was not a fantasy, but something very much within his grasp.

-00-

Thomas Barrow was enjoying his dreams as well. Though it would be fair to say Thomas did not really have dreams so much as he had schemes. Thomas had been dreading leaving London. He had no intention of returning to Downton on Tuesday to wait on the chauffeur and the plain sister, as he thought of them. Thomas was an under butler in the prime of his career. He should be waiting on the crown prince, not babysitting an essentially empty house. And now, Thomas felt his deliverance was at hand. Though he had not actually seen anything that could be described as unseemly, Thomas could put two and two together to make four. He did not know if he had enough information yet to erase the 'under' from his title, but Thomas felt he knew enough to avoid exile to Yorkshire.

TBC...

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**A/N I'm back! Sorry for the Mary heavy chapter, but I think her role in this relationship will prove important...**

**Tomorrow... Mrs. Butte!**


	32. Chapter 32

**Second update today...**

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True to his word, Carson had risen early and sought out Beryl first thing on Monday morning. While he was dressing, Charles had practiced not smiling while thinking of Elsie. The experiment did not go well. Facing his mirror, Charles had started out with his usual solemn expression. Then, he had let himself remember the events of the past few days and the scowl slowly turned into a smirk which turned into a smile which turned into the sappiest, love sickliest grin Charles had ever seen. He was not happy that he might have to be overly rude to Elsie today, but he really saw no other way to hide his obvious feelings.

Charles felt guilty when he saw the obvious distress on Mrs. Patmore's face as he entered the kitchen. "Mrs. Patmore, when you have a moment, I should like to speak with you in my office." He tried to sound professional enough to avoid suspicions from Ivy and Daisy but gentle enough for Beryl to know she was not walking to a firing squad. Not that Daisy or Ivy were the most observant of people, but it was not worth risking discovery just to be lazy.

Very shortly, Beryl arrived in his office, her expression hopeful. He alleviated her apprehension immediately by smiling broadly. "Please close the door behind you and have a seat."

Beryl did as he asked and watched him expectantly from the large leather chair.

"I should begin with an apology. I should not have blamed you for telling Elsie what you knew. I, myself, have tricked you into revealing her private information the past and I am not nearly so persistent as Elsie."

Upon hearing the butler call the housekeeper by her given name, Beryl raised her eyebrows and beamed happily at him. Charles found her genuine and spontaneous smile contagious and returned it with a face cracking smile of his own.

But then, he corralled his joy and continued seriously, "We are not ready for anyone else to know about us yet."

"And what is there to know exactly?" Beryl asked, leaning forward eagerly.

Charles blushed and coughed terribly. "Nothing." Beryl frowned at him. "That is…not really. I mean, we were only…"

Oh, god! What was there to know? He and Elsie had done very little talking last night. He was not sure exactly what she thought was happening. They had established that he loved her and she loved him. It had not seemed necessary to think too far beyond that. They had silently agreed to defer the actual thinking until they had time and space to be alone together at Downton. "You shall have to ask Elsie."

"Fine. Fine. Be that way." Beryl backed off quickly. She did not want to interfere any further for fear of frightening Charles. "I'll be as silent as a sinner on Sunday."

"Thank you. And do not be alarmed if I am particularly harsh to Elsie today. I fear I am more likely to tip our hand than you."

"I understand."

"And, if you get the chance to speak to Elsie throughout the day, please remind her of that. She already knows and should be expecting it, but I don't think it will be easy for either of us. But we only have to get through today."

"I'll remind her." Beryl promised as she rose. "Now I'll get back to the kitchen. Breakfast should be in just over an hour."

"Thank you, and remember, Mrs. Butte may be returning today."

"Gah! I'd almost forgotten. Can't we just keep Elsie on permanently?"

"Now, Mrs. Patmore, Mrs. Butte is a valued member of this staff and your nominal superior. She does her job very efficiently and without fuss. Grantham House is lucky to have her."

"If you say so, but I still say she has the personality of a wet cracker."

Charles looked down quickly to conceal his sudden smile. It would not do to encourage Beryl's abuse of Mrs. Butte, even if he found her assessment astute. "There will be no more of that. Must I remind you that I myself have been compared unfavorably to a turnip?"

"Yes, but I know you better now than I did then, Charles. I would now compare you favorably to a turnip."

Charles chuckled to himself as Mrs. Patmore made her quick escape before he could chastise her for using his Christian name, which he had no intention of doing.

Mr. Carson heard the breakfast preparations growing louder as the morning progressed. He wrapped up the last of the introductions that would need to be sent to the London merchants before Mr. Barrow took over for him. Just before he sealed the final envelope, he heard a quiet and familiar, "Ahem."

Mr. Carson forced himself to smile pleasantly at the figure in the doorway. The diminutive London housekeeper stood with her arms crossed belligerently in front of her. Mrs. Butte was roughly the same height as Mrs. Patmore, though considerably thinner. Despite her size, Mrs. Butte was a formidable looking woman; severe and serious. She was not a conventionally beautiful woman, but Carson had to admit she had handsome features. When she first came to Grantham House, Carson had seen her wedding picture in her office and knew that she was capable of being a lovely woman if only she smiled. Mr. Butte, on the other hand had looked as dour and cross as they come. Mrs. Butte must have seen Mr. Carson eyeing the photograph, because the next time he visited her office, it was gone.

She was still wearing her coat, which was a sickly color of mauve with lavender ribbon highlights that were probably in fashion ten years ago.

"Mr. Carson? May I please know why my office is locked?" She demanded.

"Oh, hello, Mrs. Butte. We were not expecting you so early. I am glad to see you are feeling better." He tried to deflect her brusque manner.

"My office, Mr. Carson. Why is it locked?" She ignored his pleasantries and persisted, her face drawn in a tight scowl.

"Is it? I was not aware. Why don't we send for Mrs. Hughes and get to the bottom of it?" He rose to do exactly that. After finding a maid to fetch Elsie, Charles returned to see that Mrs. Butte had settled into his leather chair.

"I have not locked that door in the five years I have been at Grantham House." She groused.

"I am sure Mrs. Hughes is only being overly cautious with your belongings, Mrs. Butte." Carson assured her.

The woman huffed and continued to wait impatiently. Mr. Carson had never figured out exactly what he had done to get on the wrong side of Mrs. Butte. They were not enemies exactly, but they were far from friends. She was very good with the maids; efficient and fair. She fought terribly with Beryl, but that was to be expected, given their relative positions and personalities. The coldness between Mrs. Butte and Carson was more subtle and harder to explain. He was pretty sure he had done something to upset her early in their working relationship, but he had never been able to pinpoint the moment.

Her demeanor this morning was even more belligerent than normal, which Carson could understand. Her domain had been invaded. Mrs. Butte had missed the most important event to happen at Grantham House since her tenure began. And the event had been hailed as a success. If she were working for any other family, she would have good reason to believe her job was in jeopardy.

"What did you need, Mr. Carson?" Elsie's pleasant lilt preceded her lovely self by only a fraction of a second, giving Charles very little time to wipe the smitten look off of his face. The difference between the two housekeepers could be summarized in how they had entered his office today.

"Did they have to wake you?" Mrs. Butte asked, testily.

"No, I was in the laundry setting aside some of the linens I thought you might consider pulling out of the family rotation. With such a full house, I feel we've stretched Grantham's inventory to the limit. I'll leave them for your approval." Elsie answered pertly. She had not been prepared for this woman's immediate attack. "You must be Mrs. Butte."

"Must I?"

Sensing the atmosphere gathering in the room, Carson jumped up from his chair and walked around the desk quickly. "Of course, Mrs. Butte, allow me to introduce Mrs. Hughes. Mrs. Hughes, this is Mrs. Butte."

Mrs. Butte extended her hand. Elsie relaxed at this friendly gesture. Deciding to let their rough beginning go, Elsie extended her own hand and shook Mrs. Butte's confidently.

Mrs. Butte looked mortified. After Elsie had released her hand, Mrs. Butte still held it before her. Elsie realized that she was holding it palm upward, as if waiting to receive something.

"I believe Mrs. Butte would like her keys back, Mrs. Hughes." Carson translated the gesture. "Unless you are specifically in the middle of something, you may consider yourself relieved of your obligations to Grantham House. If you have anything personal in Mrs. Butte's office, you should remove it as soon as it is unlocked."

Elsie turned to him, to tell him exactly what she thought of this idea. She stopped before she could scold him for his rudeness. Elsie could tell from little twitches on his face that he was struggling not to smile at her. This reminded her that she had not seen him since early this morning. A smile flickered across her own features before she reluctantly removed the Grantham House keys from her chain. Mrs. Butte stood obstinately before her, watching this silent exchange.

"I've nothing personal in the office, Mr. Carson."

"Then why was it locked?" Mrs. Butte demanded. "That door should always be unlocked."

"I've only been locking the office overnight. Mrs. Duncan, next door is convinced there might be thieves in the neighborhood. I am unfamiliar with London, so I took her advice."

Mrs. Butte bristled at the mention of Mrs. Duncan. There had been a silent war between the next door housekeeper and herself for three years. "I can't believe you are gullible enough to listen to anything that crackpot has to say. But then, I suppose the big city must be very intimidating."

It was Elsie's turn to bristle. Though she knew it was something she was bound to regret, Elsie returned, "Actually, I've found London to be very relaxing. It's so nice to have such a small house to look after. You must get a great deal of reading done in the Off Season."

Afraid to let this conversation go any further, Carson jumped quickly in. "Breakfast should be ready soon. You'll be wanting to put away your coat and things before that, Mrs. Butte. Shall I send for Madge to assist you?"

"I do not require _any_ assistance, Mr. Carson." Mrs. Butte retorted before stomping out of the office towards her own.

Charles hurried to the door and closed it behind her. He turned and looked at Elsie, flabbergasted. "What was that?" He asked, starting to laugh.

"I have no idea where that came from." Elsie was embarrassed, but she began to laugh too. "She just got under my skin right off the bat."

Still laughing, Charles wrapped his arms around her. "Might it be that you are a wee bit jealous, my love?"

"I will admit that I used to jealous of her, but now, I'd be more likely to be jealous of Mr. Molesley." Leaning into his embrace, Elsie looked up at her man. "Good morning, Charles. I hope your dreams were as lovely as mine."

"As lovely as my dreams were, I was glad to wake, knowing that this was awaiting me." He kissed her gently on her temple before kissing her more zealously on the lips.

They reluctantly broke apart as they heard the call for breakfast come up the corridor. "Are you still determined to be a bear to me today?"

"It's either that or tell the whole staff that I am madly in love with the housekeeper." He admitted.

"If you do tell them, please be specific. I wouldn't want Mrs. Butte to get any ideas." Elsie slipped quickly out of his office, leaving Charles to compose himself before emerging for breakfast.

TBC…

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**A/N Wanted to add a quicker update because there was so little Chelsie in the last after such a long break. It was not intentional, but that's what the story demanded at the moment.**

**I have missed our daily interactions, and look forward to hearing your thoughts on Mrs. Butte.  
**

**To the guest reviewer who has punched a hole in their wall, I hope your hand is okay. My feelings were not at all hurt by your honest and impassioned review. I don't like Mary much myself, especially in full mope. I tried to get most of that stuff out of the way in one go, so yes, there was a lot of it. And it was unfortunate that it occurred after such a long break. I hope your wall repairs will go well. **

**Much love, Chelsie Dagger**


	33. Chapter 33

For Carson, breakfast was a tense affair. It started with Mrs. Butte supplanting Mrs. Hughes beside him. Charles was glad for the distance, because it meant he did not have to be rude to Elsie by ignoring her as she sat directly beside him. But he was not happy to see the dullness in Elsie's eyes as she ate quietly between Mrs. Butte and Mrs. Baxter.

For Mrs. Butte's part, she at first thought Mr. Carson was looking her way more than usual and was flattered. She then realized he was looking at Mrs. Hughes. He seemed distracted by the fact that the Yorkshire housekeeper was being so silent. Trying to hide his preoccupation, Mr. Carson absently joined Mrs. Butte's conversation with Mr. Barrow, to whom she had just been introduced.

Mrs. Butte's friend, Miss O'Brien, had often spoken of the notorious Thomas Barrow, but Mrs. Butte had never actually met the man. Her first impression of the under butler was that he was a self important stuffed shirt. He had a manner that was at once haughty and sycophantic. She saw that he had dark, intelligent eyes and sharp features. He looked rather like a weasel to Mrs. Butte. She distrusted him immediately, but she knew better than to underestimate him or dismiss him. Sarah had claimed that he was a very useful ally on occasion.

Mr. Carson knew the time had come to discuss the London plan with Mr. Barrow, but he could hardly broach the subject at the table with so many witnesses. Thomas was on duty for family breakfast today, but they could speak directly afterward. Carson had every reason to hope his plan would be well received, but he would not rest easy until it was approved and finalized.

The bell rang, notifying them that Lady Edith and the men were ready for breakfast. With the tense breakfast mercifully ended, Mr. Carson addressed Mr. Barrow, "Please come find me after service is over, Mr. Barrow. We need to discuss a few things before the return to Downton."

"Certainly, Mr. Carson." Thomas answered dutifully. _Yes, there are many things to discuss,_ Thomas agreed, but this conversation was going to happen on Thomas' terms. He smirked to himself as he reached the dining room. If he was going to remain in London as he wished, it was time for him to make his play. Mr. Carson would never expect it. 'Good' people like Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes could look down their nose at Thomas if they liked, but he would have the last laugh. The likes of them always played the game according to Hoyle, but Thomas had spent years stacking this deck. Now was the time to shuffle and deal.

-00-

Lucille Butte sat despondently at her desk and looked around her office. She scanned every inch of the room, looking for something amiss. That Scottish interloper must have moved or misplaced something, and Lucille was determined to find it.

Mrs. Butte tried to ignore that taunting voice in her head. _Now you know why he never looked at you, Lucy. He always left his heart in Yorkshire for the Season._ It pained her to remember how love struck she was when she first came to Grantham House. Her life to that point had been a hard one. She'd raised two children while supporting a harsh but lazy lay about of a husband. She was used to hard work and harsh words. The work at Grantham House was hard during the Season, but even at its most crazed moments, it was a well run household.

She immediately attributed this efficiency to Mr. Charles Carson, a man she could not help but compare to her late husband. Charles Carson was strict but gentle. He demanded excellence by modeling it, which was something quite unique in Lucy's experience.

In contrast, Garrett Butte was an angry man with a narrow and mean mind. She had not seen this until she had married him. Her only thought was to escape her father's crowded house. Fifteen unsatisfying years of marriage had ended suddenly six years ago when a stone fell on Garrett's head as he walked under a ladder. Lucille had become a natural widow in a country full of war widows. She had been made to feel that her loss was not as noble or as tragic as others. While special benefits had been arranged for war widows, Lucille had struggled to find any sympathy for herself and her children in the later years of the war. But after a year of searching, she had found a position at Grantham House where her merits were properly acknowledged for the first time in her life.

Lost in her thoughts, Mrs. Butte had not heard his knock at first. He knocked again and called her name. "Mrs. Butte? Are you in?"

"Yes, Mr. Carson. I am sorry, I was just taking inventory." She said as he opened the door.

"You don't honestly think Mrs. Hughes has taken something that she oughtn't." He asked lightly.

Despite herself, Mrs. Butte smiled at the absurd idea. "No. Perhaps I was only hoping that she had."

Carson nodded sympathetically. "I know your illness has been a stress on you, Mrs. Butte, and this morning you were not quite yourself. Perhaps the two of you should pretend this morning's meeting never happened?"

"I am willing to start again if she is. I can't say why she got under my skin so quickly." In truth, she knew exactly why Mrs. Hughes had rankled her, the Scottish nymph. "It was very unprofessional and I apologize, Mr. Carson."

"A bit of professional territoriality is understandable after what you've been through. I am sure Mrs. Hughes will understand. But you've no need to fret over such things. Mrs. Hughes was quite a help in your absence, but she will be relieved to return to Downton and begin preparations for the garden party."

"I am sure that is true. I am just upset that I could not see Lady Rose's ball."

"We could hardly have you playing Typhoid Mary in the house with so many guests coming." He reminded her gently.

"Yes, but I had put so much work into it. And then to find out that the Crown Prince had attended..." She looked lovingly at a framed photo of the prince hanging on her wall. "I think that was the final straw."

"That reminds me." Mr. Carson brightened. "I have a souvenir for you. Just one moment."

She waited patiently for him to return. When he did, he presented her with a small bundle wrapped in tissue.

"I could hardly ask him for an autograph, Mrs. Butte, but…"

She looked from her 'souvenir' to the proud looking butler in confusion "A napkin, Mr. Carson?"

"Oh, but not just any napkin, Mrs. Butte. After many dances, the Crown Prince used _this very napkin_ to wipe his brow." Carson blushed to remember his bit of thievery. He had not mentioned it to anyone, especially Mrs. Hughes, who would have teased him mercilessly for his actions. Likely, she would have accused him of securing the item for himself.

Mrs. Butte gasped and clutched at her chest. "Honestly?"

"Your hard work will always be appreciated in this house, Mrs. Butte. I hope you will remember that." Carson assured her.

"Thank you, Mr. Carson. This was very thoughtful of you." She barely restrained herself from smelling the napkin in his presence.

"I know how fond you are of the royal family. And, if it is any consolation, Mrs. Hughes did not get to meet him either."

Just then, Mr. Molesley interrupted. "Mr. Carson, Mr. Toby is on the phone for you; something about the new boiler."

"New boiler?" Mrs. Butte questioned.

"I'll explain it to you later. Indeed, there are several household matters we should discuss. Shall we have tea in the servant's hall around three?"

"Certainly, Mr. Carson."

"Would you object to Mrs. Hughes being present? There are a few things she could offer to the discussion."

"No, of course she is welcome." She answered untruthfully.

"Very well, we shall speak later."

-00-

_Damn that man._ Lucy thought as he rushed out of her office; an office into which he rarely ventured more than two steps. Now that she was alone, she held the napkin to her nostrils and drew a deep breath. Beyond the normal clean napkin smell of lye and starch, she discerned a touch of cinnamon and the acrid scent of sweat. She might very well have imagined it all, but it was not something she was willing to admit as a possibility.

_Damn that dear, sweet man._ Just when she'd convinced herself that he was a selfish ogre who never gave her a second thought, he always managed to do something considerate like this. After knowing him for so many years, Lucy knew this was not a product of any particular regard for her. It was simply who he was; a meticulous head of household who looked after everyone under his care, upstairs and down. If only she'd known that when she first met him, she might not have given him her heart so quickly.

And it had happened quickly. Mrs. Butte had melted at the sight of his brown eyes and the sound of his melodic voice almost the moment she had met him. He exuded authority and confidence with an unpracticed ease. She had never met his like.

But her heartbreak dated to one month into her first Season and not two months after she'd begun working at Grantham House. He had found her crying in the laundry. Her late husband's debtors were threatening to foreclose on the home where her mother lived with her two children. Work was scarce and she was grateful for her job, but a seasonal housekeeper's position did not pay very well. She could supplement her income during the off season by taking on laundry or hiring out for special events, but the creditors' patience had reached their limits.

He had listened to her story and let her cry into his handkerchief. When she was done, he had taken her hand in a gentle and chaste way and assured her that she should not worry. "I've an idea that I can help you, Mrs. Butte, but I must speak to His Lordship first. Now, dry your tears. We can't have the staff thinking I've said something unkind to you."

His reassurances and his gentle teasing had finally calmed her. She'd spent that night wondering what his solution might be. Wild speculations swirled in her mind. By morning, she was convinced that he had asked His Lordship for permission to marry her and take her family under his care. She'd even had visions of moving to Yorkshire to become the housekeeper at Downton. Lucy had dressed with special care that morning and had skipped down the stairs. He had spoken kind morning salutations to her and commented how fine she looked before asking her to meet him in his office after breakfast.

With a fluttering and hopeful heart, Lucy sat in his great leather chair and waited for her proposal. But when he reached into his desk, instead of offering her a ring, Mr. Carson had handed her forty pounds. With her heart still slowly breaking, Mrs. Butte had listened calmly as Mr. Carson had informed her that she was to receive a raise and an advance on her salary to satisfy the creditors.

She later learned that this raise had come from Mr. Carson's own salary and that he had vouched for her in order to secure the advance. None of that mattered in the moment as he dashed her heart on the rocks of his indifference. Since then, she had tried to hold him off at arm's length, never spending too much time socializing with him. If she was being honest, she was disappointed to find avoiding him was a very easy task as he certainly never sought her out.

But she had not been able to give up hope. At the end of that Season, she was at least looking forward to constant letters from him. She had observed how often he wrote to Downton and had assumed it would be the same for her when he was away. She quickly realized that neither she nor Grantham House were held in as high regard as Mrs. Hughes and Downton. A bimonthly phone call was all she ever received, just a quick check in to inform her of the families plans for the next few months.

Every year, during his absence, Mrs. Butte suffered her abandonment with graceful acceptance. And every year, his return brought a new wave of bitter hope. For she did still hope against hope that he might want her companionship someday. Her demeanor to him during the Season was professional, but she often took opportunities to offer little kindnesses that he never noticed. But Mrs. Patmore noticed and offered Mrs. Butte a wide array of scowls throughout the Season. Mrs. Butte had once convinced herself that the mad cook was in love with Mr. Carson also, but she soon saw that Mrs. Patmore's relationship with Mr. Carson was more familial than romantic.

Now Lucy had met the real object of Mr. Carson's affection, Mrs. Hughes. Now, all her hopes were well and truly washed away. It was clearly evident that Mrs. Hughes was a partner worthy of Mr. Carson. She was as smooth and capable as Mr. Carson. She was graceful and confident, two things of which Mrs. Butte felt incapable. Mrs. Butte knew her job and she did it well, but even after a short acquaintance, she recognized the superiority of the Downton housekeeper. Now, she realized that the effortless efficiency of the Crawley family staff was as much attributable to this Scottish vixen as it was to Mr. Carson.

_But he thought to give me a sweaty napkin,_ she thought bitterly. Sighing greatly, she folded the royal memento carefully. She would have it framed to place with the prince's photo. Hopefully, the glass would protect the subtle scent of royalty.

"Is everything quite alright, Mrs. Butte?"

She jumped as Mr. Barrow appeared suddenly in her doorway. "Quite alright, Mr. Barrow. Is there something I can do for you?"

"I certainly hope so." He drawled. "I hope very much that we can help each other."

Mrs. Butte looked at him with a perplexed expression as he entered her office and shut the door behind him.

TBC...

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**A/N FYI, I expect to update every other day for the next week at least. Beyond that, we'll have to see.**

**I hope I have humanized Mrs. Butte a little. She may yet serve as Thomas' partner in crime, but her motivations are not as dark as his.**


	34. Chapter 34

**A/N Just a short chapter. Like that far off lightning flash that tells of the storm to come.**

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Thomas hovered briefly inside Mrs. Butte's door. His morning was going very well, he felt. He hoped it would continue in that vein. At breakfast, he had planted a few little seeds of information that he hoped would grow and bear fruit by teatime. Now he needed to recruit an ally.

"Miss O'Brien always spoke so highly of you, Mrs. Butte." Thomas said smoothly as he stepped deeper into her office and sat, unbidden, in the chair opposite her desk. Lucy could not remember the last time a man had sat there.

"And she spoke _often _of you, Mr. Barrow." Lucy replied cagily. She smiled to see him shift uncomfortably under her steady gaze.

"We did have our differences near the end, I'll admit." He wanted to light a cigarette, but looked around and saw no ashtray or indication that lighting up would be tolerated.

"Indeed, she seemed to lose her faith in you, Mr. Barrow, if I recall."

"My issue was with her nephew, never with her, no matter what she may have believed." Thomas insisted.

"I don't see that your relationship with either Miss O'Brien or her nephew need have any bearing on us, Mr. Barrow. I believe we are both capable of making up our own minds." Lucy said sensibly.

"I agree, Mrs. Butte." Thomas continued to smile smugly though the conversation was not going quite as smoothly as he had hoped. But he would not give up hope. Miss O'Brien had told him enough about this woman that he felt he could win her to his cause. At the very least, he could use her, whether she cooperated or not.

"I understand you are fond of licorice, Mrs. Butte." The under butler pulled a small bag of licorice wheels from his pocket and presented them to her.

Mrs. Butte took the bag warily. "Who told you that?"

She was shrewder than he had expected. The way Miss O'Brien had laughed about Mrs. Butte mooning over Mr. Carson, Thomas had expected a lovesick puppy dog drooling at Mr. Carson's heels. The reality was very different, but he suspected Miss O'Brien was correct about the housekeeper's feelings towards the clueless butler. He could still use that.

"I cannot remember. It must have been Mr. Carson." Thomas lied.

This bit of information seemed to appease her somewhat as she secured the licorice in the top drawer of her desk. Mr. Carson _would _notice little things like that. He always made sure she had a half day on the twins' birthday, even though it fell during the busy month of June. "You said there was something we could help each other with, Mr. Barrow?"

Cutting right to the chase; Thomas liked that. "It's more a matter of how we can help Mr. Carson, Mrs. Butte. I am sure you are aware of his ongoing health issues."

"Of course." She lied. To her knowledge, he'd never been anything but hale and hearty in the time she'd known him. If Mr. Carson had suffered any illnesses or attacks at Downton, she had never been considered important enough to inform. Not that Lucy was about to let this little creep know that.

Thomas knew she was lying, but it served his purpose, so he did not confront her about it. "Good. Then you know he should be taking things easier than he has been. Your absence added a great deal to his workload this last month. I've been doing all that he would let me, but he is just that stubborn. I've been worried he might suffer another collapse."

She nodded her agreement at his stubbornness. She looked worried. Had her illness really caused him an elevated risk of an attack, or worse?

"And he is proud, Mrs. Butte. I am afraid he has kept most of his health concerns a secret from His Lordship. If we are to help him, we'll have to betray his confidence for his own good."

Thomas saw her balk at the word 'betray'. Luckily, he had one more card to play. "And it doesn't help matters that Mrs. Hughes has kept him out all hours of the night doing God knows what."

Mrs. Butte set her jaw. Though she still did not trust this oily under butler, Lucille swore she would not let that Scottish hussy drive her Mr. Carson to an early grave. "What exactly is it that you propose, Mr. Barrow?"

-00-

"Have you seen Mr. Barrow?" Carson asked Mrs. Patmore as she put the finishing touches on family luncheon. He had been looking for the under butler for most of the morning, but kept being called away as other matters required his attention.

"Can't say as I've been looking for him, Mr. Carson." The cook answered.

"No. Of course you have not." Then, he added, in a low whisper that only she could hear, "And have you seen Elsie?"

"I imagine she is packing for tomorrow. Mrs. Butte made it pretty clear that she wasn't wanted about, I understand."

"They certainly got off on the wrong foot." Carson admitted.

"That woman doesn't have a right foot, Mr. Carson. I've told you for years there are too many bats in that belfry."

He tried to be stern, but could not help but crack a small smile at Beryl's colloquial eloquence. "Be kind, Mrs. Patmore. Mrs. Butte has lived a hard life."

"I suppose she has," Beryl admitted reluctantly, "but that does not excuse all of her little quirks."

"Perhaps not, but, as you noted, they are _little_ quirks and who in this house cannot claim a few of those?"

Beryl knew he was just trying to keep the peace, but she was in no mood for his apologies on Mrs. Butte's behalf. She gave a noncommittal eye roll and decided to change the subject to something more pleasant. "You should be packing yourself, I understand."

Luckily, the smile that spread over Charles' face was answer enough, for just then, the parlor bell rang and Carson jumped to answer his master's call.

TBC...

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**A/N Thank you for your reviews, they are an important part of the process. I rely on our dialogue to keep the creativity flowing. **

**The next chapter is the crux of the matter, as they say. You may expect the proverbial shite to hit the fan on Monday. **


	35. Chapter 35

Carson climbed the backstairs towards the parlor, still miffed at not being able to find Mr. Barrow this morning. He passed Mrs. Butte as she descended.

"Settling back in then, Mrs. Butte? I trust you are finding things are in good order?" Carson said cheerfully.

She nodded quickly, but did not say anything nor did she meet his eyes. _Sometimes she is an odd duck,_ he mused, but he didn't give her behavior any more thought. Carson paused outside the parlor. Though he had been expecting only His Lordship, there were clearly at least two voices inside and they were arguing.

With deliberate noise, Carson opened the door and entered. Lady Mary stood toe to toe with her father, obviously trying to convince him of something. Father and daughter broke apart guiltily and retreated to opposite corners of the room like fighters in a ring.

"Ah, Carson. Thank you for being so prompt." Lord Grantham said, trying to sound casual and failing miserably. "There was something I needed to discuss with you before luncheon."

"Of course, My Lord." Carson answered dutifully.

"How many years have you been with this family, Carson?"

Confused by this line of questioning, Carson looked involuntarily towards Lady Mary, who shook her head and shrugged at him as if to say, _'I wish I could help, but I don't know where he is going with this either.'_

"Over thirty years, My Lord." Carson didn't wish to bring ungentlemanly attention to Lady Mary's age by pointing out that he'd arrived shortly after her birth thirty three years ago.

"Over thirty years." Lord Grantham repeated, incredulously. "And you served my father before you served me." He said it more to himself than to Carson or Mary, who both remained silent.

"You've seen this family through some difficult times, Carson. We would be ungrateful indeed if we could not acknowledge this. But I must confess myself disappointed that you do not seem able to trust us." He looked sadly at Carson now, but the butler remained steadfastly mute. "Why did you not simply tell us?"

Reading the utter confusion on Carson's face, Lady Mary attempted to jump to the rescue. "I am sure he would have told us, Papa, but one's health is a very private business."

"My health?" Carson found his voice. He had been very close to confessing his relationship with Mrs. Hughes.

"Mr. Barrow let slip at breakfast today that you've been struggling rather with the workload here in London. He volunteered to stay on through the Season and help you."

_I am sure he did._ "Did you inform him of our plan to keep him on regardless?"

"Breakfast was hardly the place for that conversation, Carson. But that is not the point. The point is, you've been suffering silently with this problem and denying me the opportunity to help you." Lord Grantham accused, looking truly injured.

"May I ask, My Lord, did Mr. Barrow diagnose my alleged health problem? Is he a doctor now as well as an under butler?" Carson snapped. Mary bit her lips together and turned towards the window to stifle an inappropriate laugh.

"He said that you have been observed sweating and short of breath after even one flight of stairs. He has seen you unsteady on your feet and you are apparently in an uncharacteristically irascible mood. He also mentioned that you'd had trouble sleeping and had been up until all hours." Lord Grantham informed the increasingly irate butler. "Mrs. Butte has confirmed his observations. I've just sent her to fetch Mr. Barrow so we could discuss our options."

Carson shifted uncomfortably as he processed this turn of events. "Our options, My Lord?"

"When you suggested that you return to Downton before the end of the Season, you mentioned that London was wearying to you this Season. Is it possible there is something more to it?" Robert asked with great concern.

"I don't think so, My Lord, I was only thinking that the family would benefit from a more youthful presence in town." _And Elsie and I could benefit from some time in Yorkshire._ "I assure you, I am as healthy as any under this roof." He looked to Lady Mary for help, but her assistance was cut off by a knock at the door.

"Is now a good time, My Lord?" Barrow's unctuous voice asked. It was all Carson could do to stop himself from growling at the toad to drive him back into the hallway.

"Perfect timing, Barrow. I was just coming to the arrangements for the next few weeks." His Lordship waved Barrow into the room. Mrs. Butte followed, looking guiltily at Carson.

"Yes, Mrs. Butte, come in. This concerns you as well." Lord Grantham almost offered her a seat, but Mrs. Butte did not look like a woman recovering from an illness. She looked as solid and healthy as he had ever seen her. Realizing he might insult her by implying otherwise, he simply said, "May I say again how glad I am to see you so well recovered."

"Thank you, My Lord. I am glad my absence did not disrupt Lady Rose's ball overmuch. And may I say again how grateful I am that the family insisted upon paying for my convalescence."

"Say nothing of it. Only, we could now use your powers of persuasion to convince our good butler to accept the same help."

"I am not ill, My Lord." Carson insisted.

"We shall let the doctors determine that." The Earl returned.

"_Doctors?_" Carson emphasized the plural.

Mary rolled her eyes greatly and shook her head. Carson could tell they had reached the point on contention between father and daughter.

"Only the finest doctors in London." Lord Grantham said kindly. He really was very fond of their butler and had been worrying about him ever since Barrow had mentioned his health problems at breakfast. "Carson, starting tomorrow, you will be booked into the foremost heart clinic in England. I've no doubt they will get to the bottom of your woes and have you fighting fit before the family returns to Downton." A morning's worth of calls had finally secured a bed in the most exclusive clinic in London.

"I must, once more, respectfully remind Your Lordship that I am the picture of health." Carson's wide eyes, heavy breathing and bright red color did not do much to support him in his claim. Mrs. Butte rushed forward to take his arm.

"There, there, Mr. Carson, you should not get yourself worked up. You should have a seat." Carson looked down incredulously at Mrs. Butte. He pulled away from her as though she was a street urchin attempting to pick his pocket. Unfortunately for him, as he stepped back, his heel caught on the corner of a rug and he tottered backwards. He did not fall, but recovered rather clumsily, in a very non-Carson manner.

Thomas hid his smirk beneath a mask of disingenuous concern. This was all going even better than he had hoped and he had to lift nary a finger. Watching Mr. Carson flounder about was welcome icing on his cake.

"Oh, honestly! This is getting ridiculous!" Mary interceded, finally reaching her limit. "Thank you, Mrs. Butte. Thank you, Barrow. Could you please leave us?" Mary's eyes narrowed as she said Barrow's name. He was obviously enjoying this whole scene far too much.

The two dismissed servants bowed their way out the door, leaving a furious and flustered Carson to face Lady Mary and Lord Grantham.

"Now, perhaps we should all have a seat?" Lady Mary suggested.

"Thank you, My Lady, but I am quite fine standing." Carson answered stubbornly.

"I am sure you are, Carson, but I do not wish to get a crimp in my neck looking up at you, so, _please_, sit."

Reluctantly, Carson obeyed, taking the settee opposite Lady Mary as Lord Grantham pulled up the desk chair. Carson's mind was racing. _Damn that Barrow!_ Too ambitious and impatient to wait for things in their natural time, he'd attacked Carson at his most vulnerable point, his age.

Carson had always felt confident in his position, despite Barrow's ambitions. Carson knew it would be madness for Barrow to attempt to accuse him of theft or disloyalty. But an accusation of poor health? It was wickedly brilliant.

Carson could see it now; even if the doctors found nothing, the specter of heart problems would be ever present in His Lordship's mind. Barrow would continue to pour poisoned thoughts into the ears of Lord and Lady Grantham. Eventually, this worry and concern would lead to a request for Carson's premature retirement; for his own good. Lord Grantham's kindness would be Carson's undoing. _Barrow must be loving the irony of it all, _Carson fumed darkly.

And Elsie had just warned him about that snake. _Oh, God, Elsie!_ She was expecting him to return to Downton with her tomorrow! They still had so much to discuss. Their feelings were still fresh, the ink not yet dry on their declarations, as it were. And they were to be torn apart almost immediately. Losing her love was a silly thing to fear, as long as they had known and loved one another, but he still felt apprehensive. Would she think he had not fought to be with her, would she think him a sniveling servant with no mind of his own?

He could admit defeat and give his notice right now, but something stopped him. Charles wanted to talk things over with Elsie, he needed to reassure her that she was the most important thing in his life, but, more than that, he needed her reassurance that he was not ready to be put out to pasture.

"Papa, I don't think Mr. Carson needs to be put in a heart clinic. Why don't we just let him return to Downton as planned and have him visit Dr. Clarkson?"

"Dr. Clarkson does not have the facilities to properly examine Carson. There are new methods of detection every day and I insist that Carson have the benefit of the very best medicine available." Lord Grantham did not want to say how very little he trusted Dr. Clarkson's opinion on such an important matter.

"I am grateful for your thoughtfulness, My Lord, but there is nothing wrong with me beyond a few late nights. I am fit enough to see out the rest of the Season, if need be." He offered, reluctantly.

Lord Grantham shook his head and frowned sagely. "I remember you giving me such assurances several years ago, Carson. A few days later, you collapsed at dinner. You are perhaps not the best judge of your own health."

Carson was not happy to have that humiliating experience thrown back at him. "I was doing the work of three men at that point, My Lord, and I let the stress of the situation affect me. We are properly staffed now and my stress is more than manageable."

"You must trust me in this, Carson. Mrs. Butte and Mr. Barrow both came to me independently expressing their concerns for your health. I cannot in good conscious ignore their warnings." Lord Grantham rose suddenly. "It is settled, Carson. You will check into the clinic first thing tomorrow. Barrow will stay on in London and James will return to Downton in your place."

Lord Grantham left the room quickly, declaring the discussion closed.

TBC...soon.

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**A/N I hope this scenario is as plausible to you as it is to me. I think the only advantage Barrow has over Carson is his age and health. And, it would be difficult and uncertain to try and attack Carson on any other front. And this is just the start. Thomas' plan does go a little deeper, as we will see tomorrow...**

**As always, thoughts and comments are welcome.**

**Congrats to my Seahawks, their awesome defense and our little quarterback! **


	36. Chapter 36

Carson had stood when His Lordship quit the room, and he remained standing before Lady Mary.

"Please sit back down, Carson."

He obeyed her, silently.

"Papa only wants to know that you are well, Carson. You know that." Lady Mary soothed. "I tried to convince him that you would be better off back at Downton, but he's very worried about you. According to Mrs. Butte, your health was questionable even early in the Season."

"I don't know why she would say that." Carson said, dully.

"Well, she must have her reasons, though I suspect Barrow must be involved. In any event, I think you are stuck going to the clinic unless you want to tell Papa your real reason for wanting to return to Downton tomorrow." She looked at him expectantly.

"My Lady?"

"I saw the two of you this morning, Carson; in the park."

Lady Mary had seen them! Carson was not sure if the emotion that swept through him was shame or relief. "My Lady, I can explain."

"There is no need, Carson." She wanted to reach out and touch his knee to assure him, but she remained sitting passively opposite him. "I am very happy for you both. Unfortunately, I don't know how Papa will view this or if he will believe that it is a new development."

"I assure you, My Lady, even a week ago I could have honestly told you that there was nothing between us." Carson cast his head down slightly and frowned. "Not that I am not proud of that fact." _ I have blindly squandered the devotion of a good woman for many years._

"There is no need for you to assure me of anything, Carson. I could clearly see that this is all very new to you both. You had a dazed look about you at the gate and Mrs. Hughes looked like a giddy school girl."

Carson smiled gratefully and somewhat smugly. It was strange how naturally he could discuss this with Lady Mary. Despite the difference in their relative positions, they understood each other in an instinctual way. It never occurred to him to lie to her or hide the depths of his feelings for Elsie from her.

"But what can I do, My Lady? Mrs. Hughes thinks I am returning to Downton tomorrow. We were hoping for time to figure things out together before we needed to inform the family."

"Then making a clean breast of it to Papa is not an option." Lady Mary thought aloud. "Maybe after you've endured this trip to the clinic, you can return directly to Downton."

"But will His Lordship be content even if they find nothing?" Carson did not want to entertain the idea that they might actually find something wrong with him. He certainly was not as spritely as he had been in his youth, but he was fairly certain there was nothing for any doctors to find. Still, there was a small doubt in his mind. Who knew what this clinic might be like?

"Unlikely. Maybe by the time the doctors present their report, you'll have had time to discuss your future with Mrs. Hughes. And maybe we'll have figured out exactly what Barrow is up to. If he has fabricated this whole story, he must know there is a strong chance they won't find anything. What else might he try when that fails?"

Carson had not considered that. Could this move just be the first in a series of attempts to undermine him? Was there more behind this than just a desire to stay in London for a few extra weeks? What was Thomas' end game?

Of course, Mary's question had been rhetorical. "Not to worry, Carson. Even if Barrow has Papa fooled and Mama eating out of his hand, you may be sure that I am on your side; yours and Mrs. Hughes'."

"Thank you, My Lady. That is a comfort to know."

Mary smiled benevolently at the man who had always supported her. She reached into a fold of material at her waist pulled out a small, blue velvet, drawstring pouch. "After I saw the two of you this morning, I knew I wanted to give you something. I hope I am not being too officious, but I want you to have this, Carson, and I would be honored if you would present it to Mrs. Hughes."

Without even opening the pouch, Carson knew he must decline this offering. Shaking his head, he tried to avoid accepting her gift, but Mary pressed it into his protesting hands.

"I insist, Carson. Grandmama or Aunt Rosamund, I honestly cannot remember which, gave this to me on my eighteenth birthday. I know it sounds silly, but I've never felt that it belonged to me." She faltered over her words, unsure of how she could make him understand exactly how she felt. "Every piece of jewelry has a personality of its own. This is lovely, but our personalities don't match. I've never worn it. Last night, I realized to whom this truly belongs. I was just holding on to it until the right moment to pass it on to her."

Still unsure, Carson emptied the pouch onto his palm. His breath stopped. He understood exactly what Lady Mary meant. There was no doubt in his mind; this ring was destined for Elsie. A trio of sapphires were set on a delicate golden ring, the center gem slightly larger than the other two. On either side of the central stone, a line composed of three tiny diamonds divided the sapphires. The light reflected off the facets of the gems like the sunlight off the water at Brighton. Looking into this ring was like looking into Elsie's laughing, sparkling eyes as she had watched him splash about in the water.

"It is perfect for her, My Lady, but I cannot accept it." Though it grieved him, Carson still felt obligated to refuse such a gift.

"Please, Carson. I owe you and Mrs. Hughes so much, and not just for how you care for my family. To be honest, the two of you have rather inspired me. I have been wondering of late if it was even possible for me to ever again feel the measure of love I experienced with Mr. Crawley. Until now, I've been willing to settle for a pale imitation of love with some nice, but ultimately uninspiring men. Seeing the two of you last night reminded me that the right person is worth the wait. I know now that I will settle for nothing less than a love that is truly worthy of the rest of my life."

"It pleases me to hear you say that, My Lady. None of us would see you settle for anything less."

"And I will not settle for anything less than you accepting this small token of my esteem for you and Mrs. Hughes." As her father had done earlier, Lady Mary stood imperiously, declaring the matter closed with her body language as much as with her words. Carson stood with her. Mary took his hands and closed them around the tiny ring. "If I could give you every jewel I possessed, it would not be sufficient to show my respect and gratitude to you both."

With that, she flowed out of the room with a swift grace, leaving Carson speechless and more than a little choked up.

-00-

After they had been dismissed, Mrs. Butte had scuttled downstairs to finalize luncheon preparations. Thomas had remained behind in the servant's stairwell, wanting to be there to greet Mr. Carson after his meeting with Lady Mary and His Lordship. He knew Mr. Carson would be wounded terribly and Thomas was ready with the salt.

Finally, the door opened and Mr. Carson walked through with a dazed look in his eyes as he placed something in his pocket. Mr. Carson's shoulders did not have the set of a defeated man, but Thomas suspected he was just hiding his disappointment well. Thomas' grin grew wider as he met Mr. Carson's eyes and he allowed himself an audible chuckle. This was a mistake. Before Thomas knew what was happening, he was being drug down the stairs by his lapels, his feet flailing, searching for traction. No words came from the butler, only a series of growls, as they reached the next landing down from the ground floor. Disoriented, Thomas felt himself being flung. For a brief second, Thomas feared Mr. Carson had thrown him down the stairs, but instead of steps, his back struck the wall of the stairwell. He stumbled and fell to sit at Mr. Carson's feet.

Recovering slightly from his scare, Thomas opened his eyes to look up at an enraged Charlie Carson. This was no butler before him, but a street brawling tough who outclassed him in height, reach and weight. But where Thomas lacked size and strength, he compensated with speed and guile. Forcing himself to smile, Thomas stood up on the landing, facing his opponent boldly. "Why, Mr. Carson, you're libel to hurt yourself if you carry on like this."

Doubt flickered across Carson's face at this show of self-assurance. Even now, anger was subsiding and rational thought filtering back into his mind.

"I should have you sacked for insubordination! What do you mean telling lies about me to His Lordship?"

"Lies, Mr. Carson? You must admit, you've not been yourself lately." Thomas drawled with more false bravado. "I merely mentioned my concerns to His Lordship."

"Would it interest you to know that we were already planning to keep you on in London? That you were to have a trial of six weeks running Grantham House on your own?"

It was Thomas' turn to be surprised. Thomas cursed himself as he realized that there had been no reason for him to show his hand yet. He recovered quickly from the shock. "Were you planning to tell me at the train station?"

"I was _going_ to tell you this morning, but you were too busy scheming behind my back to be found." Carson did not appreciate the under butler's cheek. "In case my communications are not timely enough for you, let me make this clear; you have until the end of the Season to find another position. You will not be returning to Downton with the family. I have been too lenient with you for too long. My benevolence is at an end. I suggest you find another job while you are still gainfully employed. After this Season, you will be dismissed from this family with no reference."

"That would be very unwise, Mr. Carson." Thomas was sweating now, but he was not unprepared for this confrontation. He had, after all, brought it about.

"Is that so?" Carson asked skeptically.

Thomas answered cooly, "You are not considering the things I know about this family."

"What?"

"I'm only saying that I know a lot of interesting facts about this family and this staff, Mr. Carson; enough to keep them in the scandal rags for some time."

TBC…

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**Dun dun dun!**


	37. Chapter 37

**Second Update today... don't miss the previous one with Mary and Carson...**

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Carson struggled to comprehend what Thomas had just said. Was he threatening to betray the family? "And what could you offer those hacks at the gossip rags?"

"Where should I start?" Thomas said with deep sarcasm. "I could offer them the Crawley Curse."

"The Crawley Curse?"

"Have you not noticed all the mysterious deaths that seem to happen around this family?"

"Mysterious deaths?" _Stop sounding like a damn parrot, man!_ Carson scolded himself. "What do you mean?" Carson was disconcerted by the lack of fear in Thomas' eyes.

"It all started with the Titanic and James and Patrick Crawley. Then there was the exotic Mr. Pamuk, the unfortunate Mrs. Vera Bates, the little unborn Lord, poor William, the conveniently disposed of Miss Swire and her wealthy father," Thomas counted them off, "The misdiagnosed Lady Sybil, the unlucky Mr. Crawley and the apparently clumsy Mr. Green."

_Who is Mr. Green?_ Carson wondered vaguely. "Those were all natural and explainable deaths. No paper will be interested in your fabrications, Mr. Barrow. The Crawleys have experienced no more death than any other family in the past decade."

"Each taken on their own is a rather mundane death, but a good writer could weave a story of such intrigue that the Crawley name would be as cursed as Cain or as notorious as Machiavelli." Thomas sneered. "And that doesn't even begin to address the shady American relations and the long list of other disgraceful events I could name that have happened under your very nose."

Carson huffed dismissively. "Now I know you are bluffing, Mr. Barrow. Our household is as respectable as they come."

"Is it? Do respectable houses allow maids to seduce house guests _and_ family members? Do they blackmail a respectable family into raising a bastard child as their legitimate grandson? Do they allow the staff to carry on inappropriate relationships with one another and then reward those relationships? Does the Lady's maid of a Countess usually sneak out in the middle of the night to run off to India? And you don't know everything there is to know about all your downstairs staff. Do respectable houses employ murderers and forgers?"

Mr. Carson's mind was racing to keep up with Thomas' accusations. Was he talking about Ethel and Major Bryant or Edna and Mr. Barrow? The fact that he could be talking about either was disquieting. His inner judge wanted to point out that the Bryants had taken little Charlie in out of familial kindness, not because of blackmail.

As for the immoral behavior between staff, Carson thought immediately of Mr. Barrow's own activities. It was true that Barrow had made an unwanted advance to a coworker and both had received promotions out of the incident. Carson was loathe to admit that to outsiders Anna and Mr. Bates' relationship might appear improper before they were married. Courting between household staff should be strictly forbidden, but an exception had been made for them. And then there was James and Ivy to consider, though that was never likely to go anywhere. Now there was even Mrs. Hughes and himself to add to the number of improper pairings. Carson smoldered to think of this vile little wretch smirking over his relationship with Elsie. Carson felt his anger building again, but Thomas had made him question himself. Between all the minor concessions and allowances, had Carson really descended down that slippery slope and lost control over his household?

But the final accusation brought him back to the righteous high ground.

"Mr. Bates was exonerated of that crime, Mr. Barrow. As you well know."

"Perhaps, but he has not necessarily been idle since getting out of prison, has he?"

"If you are implying that he has been doing anything criminal while under our roof, I must strongly disagree."

"Just ask Mr. Molesley about a little matter of a forged note. And ask Mr. Green about Mr. Bates' temper. Oh, that's right. You can't."

"_Who_ is Mr. Green?" Carson finally asked, exasperated by this conversation.

"He's the man who attacked Anna. You knew him as Mr. Gillingham."

"Attacked Anna?" Carson was about to demand further explanation, but the sight of Anna the morning after the final evening of last year's house party assaulted his memory. _But Elsie assured me that Anna was fine,_ he remembered. He had pressed her for details about Anna's injuries the next morning, but she had promised him that it was a small feinting spell. Elsie had promised him. "Anna fell and hit herself on the sink," he said weakly, knowing what a fool he sounded.

"If the sink at Downton is that violent, we are lucky Mrs. Patmore is still alive." Thomas laughed, seeing that he now had the upper hand on the poor, blindsided butler. "And what do you think happened to Mr. Green?"

Carson only shook his head helplessly.

"He's dead; apparently tripped in front of a lorry on a busy London street. Did he strike you as a clumsy man, Mr. Carson?" Carson's head still shook, his face remained blank. "It seems more likely that he was thrown into the street. And it happened on the very day Mr. Bates was supposedly in York. Of course, Lady Mary and Anna were both in London that day as well, which would make for an even more interesting story."

This hit Carson like a slap. "You cannot honestly be accusing Lady Mary or Anna of murder!"

"But wouldn't it look amazing on a front page? 'Lady of Death Strikes Again'! Lady Mary really does have a knack for being around unfortunate accidents. Do you think the tax office will be keen to continue to extend credit to an estate run by a man who bleeds money and a murderess?"

Carson looked at Thomas as if he were seeing a maggot crawl out of a half eaten steak. "What could you gain by spreading such lies?"

"What else is there to gain in life, Mr. Carson? Money."

"But it can't possibly pay that much and you would never find another job if you betrayed your family's trust."

"That's the point, Mr. Carson. I wouldn't _need_ another job. I'd have enough to set up a shop somewhere where they didn't know me. I would work for myself instead of being an _under_ butler."

"Have you never heard the phrase 'Don't bite the hand that feeds you?'"

This seemed to anger Thomas, for he surged forward, his face inches from Mr. Carson's chin. "No one _feeds_ me, Mr. Carson. I take care of myself. And I will bite any hand that it suits me to."

Suddenly, Carson understood this man before him as he never had before. Barrow was always grubbing about for an extra shilling here or there with dreams of being his own master. His failed attempt to enter the black market had not taught him caution, it had made him hungrier. The younger man coveted the position of butler because he could work with unscrupulous vendors who offered kickbacks to butlers willing to turn a blind eye to substandard goods. Carson saw that Barrow would sell the pick of the wine cellar out from under the house in an attempt to line his own pockets. And when he was close to having enough to set up shop, there was nothing to stop him from selling his lies and speculations to the highest bidder for even more cash. He might even feed the papers from within for as long as he could get away with it.

"Even after everything the people in this household have done for you?" Carson tried a new approach.

"Oh, yes, everything they've done for me. All the while looking down at me and calling me 'twisted' and 'foul'. Do you deny it?"

"I do not. According all the laws of God and men, your actions were foul. But His Lordship excused it and that was the end of it. I do not think it has any bearing on how you are treated in this household. Rather, the fact that you have been proven a thief and a liar in the past may be why you feel looked down upon." Though conservative was too mild a word for Carson, the butler truly had not held Thomas' indiscretion against him. He did not necessarily agree with Lord Grantham's decision to keep Thomas on, but Carson had plenty of more substantial reasons to distrust Thomas beyond his 'bent persuasion.' "Your issue seems to be with me, Mr. Barrow. Even if you must revenge yourself on me, why would you threaten those who have helped you? Anna has always been kind to you and His Lordship has been very tolerant of your many mishaps."

"Because a man deserves to be more than _tolerated,_ Mr. Carson. I deserve respect. I have worked for this family for over twelve years now. I have earned the right to be butler. After serving as His Lordship's valet, I was thrown over for a gimpy ex con. I had done nothing wrong."

"Mr. Bates was reinstated because he had not done anything wrong either. It was his job all along. Besides, he and His Lordship have a bond from the war."

"Was he preferred because he was a wounded soldier? Well I was wounded in a war also!" Thomas brought his hand up to Mr. Carson's face as evidence.

Carson snarled and grabbed Thomas by the wrist. "Since you brought it up, let's _talk_ about your wound, Mr. Barrow. I saw a lot of injuries come through our village during the war, but none as singular as yours. Please explain to me exactly how one manages to be shot cleanly through the hand? Were you carrying the litters full of wounded over your head in the trenches? Were you waving to a friend on the German side? Were you even shot at all, or were you simply too enthusiastic in punching your ticket home?" Carson felt glad to finally confront Barrow about his alleged heroism. It felt good to have some way to strike back. Thomas' 'wound' had always bothered Mr. Carson no end. "Do not claim to be a war hero, Mr. Barrow. Being in the trenches at all must have come as a nasty shock after you signed up for a nice cushy hospital job."

Thomas grew red with indignation, but his voice remained even. "Now, Mr. Carson, if you are going to get personal, you will force me to note that you've kept Mrs. Hughes out quite late for several evenings. Much later than a respectable woman should be out in the company of a man. With the two of you so close, I am surprised you did not know all about Anna's situation. Mrs. Hughes certainly knew all about it. Mind you, I have nothing against Mrs. Hughes and I would hate to cast aspersions in her direction, but if you force me to, Mr. Carson, I may have no choice."

Red hot anger flared in Carson's eyes causing Thomas to experience another rush of real fear. He had pushed too far this time and he knew it. Thomas backed instinctively away from the butler towards the lower stairs as if to dash down to the safety of a populated servant's hall and kitchen. As his heels met the edge of the topmost step, Thomas gulped audibly. The look the butler was currently giving him was dark and menacing as he loomed over the younger, smaller man.

Down below them, a door opened and Mrs. Butte's voice called up, "Thomas? Mr. Carson? Are you coming down? Luncheon is almost ready!"

Thomas's feet tangled and he stumbled as he turned towards her voice, perhaps to call for help. A great hand caught the front of his coat and pulled him upright just before he began to tumble down the stairs. Leaving the flustered under butler trembling at the top of the stairs, Carson stormed down the stairs. As he passed Mrs. Butte, he growled, "Mr. Barrow will be serving luncheon today, Mrs. Butte. Apparently, I do not feel very well."

TBC…

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**A/N I don't think it's too far of a stretch the think that Thomas put all the pieces together regarding Anna and Green by this point. I don't think he knows about the train ticket, but he knows Bates was in York because Miss Baxter would know that bit of information. Also, he doesn't REALLY know anything, he is only speculating, trying to fish for more information and see what people respond to.  
**

**I'm trying to post a few more chapters before heading out of town this weekend. I think two more chapters will get us to a nice break. Thanks for sticking with me;)**


	38. Chapter 38

**FYI, there were two updates yesterday, Ch 36 with Mary and Carson then Ch 37 with Carson and Barrow. You'll need both going forward.**

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Carson found Elsie assisting Mrs. Patmore in the kitchen. "This was the only room where I was unlikely to run into Mrs. Butte." She confided in a comically loud whisper. She was in a playful mood, he could see. "I've finished packing and Beryl, that is _Mrs. Patmore_, is going to set us up with a basket for the train trip home tomorrow. I'm putting in our order now. Which do you prefer; salmon mousse or chicken salad with watercress?"

Carson felt his chest tighten as she smiled at him, so obliviously happy. Only now that he was being denied the next few weeks with her at Downton could he feel just how much he had wanted them. He'd been slowly awakening to his true feelings for her for so long but since the day at the beach he felt as though he'd been doused in cold water which had shocked him fully awake. He now recognized in her everything that was important to him; loyalty, intelligence, compassion, spirit and love.

How had he waited so long? _There's no fool, like an old fool,_ he thought sadly.

"Or would you prefer cucumber?" She pressed.

"I'll leave that to you and Mrs. Patmore. Would you step into my office please, there's something regarding the return to Downton which we need to discuss." He kept his voice even and Mrs. Hughes was in too fine a mood to hear the gloom in his voice.

But Beryl heard it. "Would you care for some tea, Mr. Carson?"

"No, thank you, Mrs. Patmore, we won't be requiring tea."

"Don't you have to serve luncheon?" Elsie asked, realizing that something was not quite right.

"Barrow can handle that." Charles gestured for her to lead the way to his office. As Elsie was leaving the kitchen, Mrs. Butte came bustling around the corner and almost ran into her.

"Oh, humph, ah. I was coming to get you some water to take with a headache powder, Mr. Carson." The fidgety woman said, breathily.

"I did not say I had a headache, Mrs. Butte." Carson addressed her coldly. "Haven't you somewhere else to be? Something better to be doing?"

"You're not ill, are you Mr. Carson?" Elsie asked, boldly placing her hand on Charles' face as if feeling for a fever. She saw the London housekeeper suck on the insides of her cheek in silent mortification. "You feel just fine to me."

Beryl laughed out loud and Carson suppressed a smile as Mrs. Butte turned and huffed her way out of the kitchen. "That was unkind, love." Charles said quietly.

"I know, but I could not help myself. You weren't exactly warm to her yourself. She is a silly creature." Elsie insisted as she headed to the butler's office.

_But silly creatures can bite just as surely as any other creature._ Charles thought morosely. He did not know how he would begin to tell her the latest developments. He fingered the ring in his pocket, but thought now was not the time for such a momentous event.

When they reached his office, Charles closed and locked the door behind him. She stood blissfully ignorant in the middle of the room watching him. He was speechless when confronted with her pure, unconcealed joy. Impulsively, he moved across the room to her, took her beaming face in his hands and kissed her with a rough passion. She had to believe beyond any doubt that he loved her if they were going to get through these next few moments and weeks.

Still smiling, Elsie fanned herself with her hand as he released her. "Goodness, whatever was that for?"

"Does it matter?" He asked, teasingly.

"Not one bit." She laughed and leaned up for a slower, more smoldering kiss. He ended up holding her tightly to him, his great hands spanning her tiny back.

"Elsie, I have some bad news." He finally began, thinking directness the best route. "James will be returning to Downton with you tomorrow."

He had to admire how quickly she recovered. Someone who did not know her as well as he did might not have seen the disappointment flash across her face or heard the pain in her voice when she asked, "What's changed?"

"Mr. Barrow decided on his own that he would not be returning to Downton and spoke to His Lordship before I could inform him of the plan."

"But it isn't his place to say where he goes or when." Elsie protested. "What exactly did he say to His Lordship?"

"He voiced concerns over my health."

Elsie laughed, not believing the absurdity of it. When Charles did not smile, she stopped laughing. "Honestly?"

"And somehow he convinced Mrs. Butte to corroborate the story."

"That little"

Carson cut her off, "In any event, Lord Grantham is very concerned about me and wants to send me to a clinic to be evaluated. I am to leave tomorrow."

"And Dr. Clarkson couldn't evaluate you at Downton?"

"Lady Mary tried to convince him of that very thing, but His Lordship is convinced there are better facilities and doctors available here in London."

"Better facilities, perhaps, but Dr. Clarkson knows you."

"His Lordship was adamant. I shall have to go to the clinic, but hopefully, not for long and then I can return directly to Downton."

"That is not so bad, then. I mean, they aren't going to find anything wrong with my big, strong man." Elsie accentuated 'big' and 'strong' with a peck on either cheek before growling the word 'man' directly onto his lips.

Charles could not help but smile at her confidence in him. The doubts and worries of mere minutes ago were nothing to him in light of her trust in him. That was going to make what he had to say next even more difficult.

"Come here, love." He requested as he settled into his leather chair. She offered him her hand and he pulled her gently onto his lap and into his arms. "There is something more we need to discuss."

Rubbing her knee absently, Charles told her about his confrontation with Barrow. He told her of the threats and the accusations. She had tried to pull away from him when he mentioned Anna, but he held her tightly and calmed her with his sad smile. Elsie was surprised to see no anger in his eyes, only hurt and disappointment. It was worse than anger.

He finished his verbatim account of the discussion, not dwelling on anything or offering any commentary. "So you see, we have a bit of a problem." He concluded anticlimactically.

"I should say so."

"I want you to know, Elsie, if two hours ago, you had asked me to retire and leave here with you today, I would have. At that point, I thought I could trust Mr. Barrow to look after the family, but he's shown his true self. I cannot leave my family and my staff to the machinations of such a man. If I do, I'm negating three decades of my life."

"I understand."

"Do you? Do you truly understand?" He looked her earnestly in the face and squeezed her hand so tightly it almost hurt. "I swear to you, Elsie, I will have this resolved by the end of this Season. And then the only thing that will matter in my life is making you happy. But I have to bury that little rat first."

"You have nothing to explain, Charles. They are _our_ family and _our_ staff and I shall help you. If he's going to be an ungrateful little blighter, then we had best rid ourselves of him."

"But how do we get rid of him without driving him to the newspapers? He's just mad enough to do it, you know."

"Well there's really only one way to make sure he doesn't talk." Elsie said slowly, really just thinking aloud.

Charles looked at her aghast, but then dropped his head in shame. "I almost did."

"What? You almost did what?"

"When Barrow was falling, I almost _let_ him. It would have been so easy."

"For some people, it would have been."

Charles looked pained as he whispered. "He had just threatened you."

"I'd like to see him come after us for moral misconduct. That's the pot calling the kettle black if I ever heard it." Elsie saw Charles try to smile at her joke, but he was still obviously upset. She suspected that she knew why. "I'm sorry that I couldn't tell you about Anna. She made me promise. She threatened to do herself harm, Charles. I could not betray her trust."

Charles nodded, trying to accept her reasoning, but still ashamed that something that terrible had happened under his roof while he had known and done nothing. "Then how did Barrow come to know about it?" He wondered.

"I honestly do not know. I doubt he _knows _anything. He's just pieced bits together and arrived at his own conclusions."

"And are his conclusions correct? Do you suspect Mr. Bates as well?"

Elsie was not sure how to answer this. She did believe Mr. Bates capable of the act of avenging Anna and she did suspect Mr. Bates of being in London when he claimed to be in York, but did she really believe he had killed a man in cold blood? If she truly believed that, could she allow Anna to remain with such a man? "No. I don't believe Mr. Bates had anything to do with Green's death. I believe it was exactly as they said; a crowded corner with some jostling going on and a poor, unsuspecting" _rapist _"man ends up falling into the street in front of a lorry."

"I suppose it couldn't happen to a nicer guy. Perhaps Providence was looking out for Anna after all, though it is sure to appear suspect to someone trying to make trouble." Charles pulled her closer and lay he head on her shoulder as she rested her cheek upon the top of his head.

"Are you sure you aren't angry that I didn't tell you?" She had to ask.

Beneath her, his head shook. "Angry? No. I just wish I knew why you feel you can't trust me."

His broken tone cut her to the core. She leaned down to look deeply into his sad eyes. Their foreheads and noses pressed together as she tried to convince him of her sincerity. "There is no one in this world whom I trust more than you, my love."

"Then why didn't you tell me?" He pleaded. "And I am not talking about just Anna now."

"I've explained keeping Anna's secret the best I could. You'll either accept it or not." Elsie explained rationally. "As for the other, it's a little more complicated."

"I'm listening."

Elsie gathered her thoughts as she took a deep breath. She'd given this a good deal of thought and she believed she had arrived at the truth. "My mother died of cancer." She felt Charles tense beneath her. "Not the same kind of cancer that I thought I had, but it was cancer all the same. I was away from home, working in a hotel in Glasgow. She didn't tell me she was sick. I kept writing home the normal, frivolous letters full of teenage nonsense and she wrote back to tell me about the farm. There was always something about the sheep or a horse getting into the garden.

"When her final letter came, asking for me to come home because she was ill, I was shocked and angry. When I came home, I demanded to know why my father and sister had not told me the truth and brought me home sooner. My mother said that she had forbidden them to tell me. She said that after she'd seen the pity in their faces that she didn't want that from me.

"My mother told me that my silly letters were the only part of her life the cancer had not tainted in her final months. She told me it had been a blessing to be able to have that one bit of normalcy in her life. After she died, I was glad to know I had been able to give her that."

Charles reached up and wiped the sparse tears from her cheeks with his large thumb. Her eyes sparkling with tears, Elsie took another deep breath before saying the most difficult thing she'd ever told anyone. "When I thought I might be sick, I wanted you to be that still place in my life that the cancer could never touch. I know it was selfish, but"

Charles stopped her confession with a kiss. She felt that his cheeks were wet as well. "Shhh, love. I understand." He kissed the salty tracks the tears had left on her face before smiling at her. "You must come from a long line of stubborn women."

"Scotland is full of stubborn women." Elsie chuckled, petting a few stray strands of his hair back into place. His eyes were closed as he enjoyed her caresses.

"I always pictured it full of bonnie lassies."

"Oh, aye, bonnie, stubborn lassies." She laughed for a bit before whispering in his ear. "Thank you, Charles."

"Thank_ you_, my bonnie lass."

The two sat silently, wrapped in each other's arms and in each other's confidence. The noise outside the door grew as family luncheon was ending and the transition to servant's meal began.

"After luncheon, we should meet back here." Carson offered. "You are free from any household duties and I can hardly be expected to do any more work if I am about to keel over from some unnamed heart malady. We need to discuss our plans before we go our separate ways tomorrow."

Elsie nodded her agreement and snuggled closer to him when he mentioned their parting.

"Take heart, love. We have at least one advantage over Mr. Barrow."

"How is that?"

"He thinks this is a game, something he can win with smugness and gall."

"And is it not a game?"

"No. He threatened my family. To him it is a game. To me, it is a war."

He looked so intense and passionate, Elsie's only response was to take his face in her hands and kiss him fiercely.

Looking embarrassed, Charles asked, "What was that for?"

"Does it matter?"

"Not one bit." He laughed and kissed her in return with somber dignity.

When this kiss reluctantly ended, Elsie took his hand and placed it over her heart along with her own hand. She laced her fingers in his and made a fist between them as she locked his eyes with her gaze. "I've already told you, Charles. They are _our_ family and we will fight for them together."

Charles smiled as he raised their joined fist upwards and kissed the pulse point on her strong and delicate wrist. "I almost feel sorry for the poor bastard."

"I don't." Elsie laughed with stern determination before wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing Charles as one would kiss a lover going off to war.

TBC…

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**A/N Tomorrow will be their evening meeting and a glimpse at their plan of attack against Barrow before a long weekend break. I've nearly reached the end of my roughed out story, so your input is particularly influential now. **

**Edited to Add:: My apologies to those looking for Chapter 39. Time got away from me. I will be away from a computer for a long weekend. Next update will be Tuesday at the latest. This is a better place to end it than the little I have for the next Chapter. I promise to make it up to you with a tiny side project I am working on...GraysonSteele knows what I am talking about.**


	39. Chapter 39

Lunch passed in an uncomfortable silence broken only by the scraping of spoons against bowls or the clink of glasses being placed on the table. Neither the two housekeepers nor the two butlers seemed inclined to talk at all during the meal. This cast a pall over the whole assembly. At the end of the meal, Mr. Carson pushed back his chair and rose solemnly to address the staff.

"You are all aware that Mrs. Hughes, Daisy and Ivy will be leaving us tomorrow to return to Downton. What you do not know is that James will be returning with them rather than Mr. Barrow. James, I want to express to you, in front of everyone that His Lordship and I are confident that you are ready for this next level of responsibility." James managed to blush and smile smugly at the same time. Most of the female staff found this very endearing.

Clearing his throat to redirect the full staff's attention back to himself, Carson continued. "There are still as many as six weeks left in this Season, but each of you has already made this Season a rousing success. You should all be proud of what we have accomplished together. I hope you will continue your high level of professional performance through the end of the Season." Everyone nodded their intention to do just that with self congratulatory smiles on their faces. Such gushing praise from Mr. Carson was a rare thing indeed.

"It is especially important that you do so, because I will not be here for a portion of the time remaining; beginning tomorrow." Gasps and speculative murmurs rippled around the long table.

"While it is my contention that I am perfectly healthy, His Lordship has generously insisted that I enter a health clinic for a thorough evaluation. I do not know how long this evaluation will take, but in my absence, I expect you all to follow Mr. Barrow's leadership as though he were speaking with my voice."

Thomas looked surprised at this instruction to the staff. He had not expected Carson to be so magnanimous in defeat. Thomas' smile was in danger of becoming an outright gloat until he happened to look at Mrs. Hughes. She fixed him with such a cold and deadly stare, that Thomas had difficulty swallowing the small sip of tea he had taken to highlight his affectation of nonchalance.

"Mr. Barrow will begin his tenure immediately and will oversee tonight's dinner. I have some things to which I must attend in preparation for my absence. I hope to return to you all very shortly, the very picture of health."

Without further explanation, Carson left the table and entered his office. The staff sat in stunned silence. Questioning Mr. Carson's health was tantamount to questioning the stability of the Rock of Gibraltar. It was obvious to most of the staff that something odd was happening. Almost all of them noted that Mr. Carson had not once glanced in Mr. Barrow's direction.

Rather than participate in the wild gossip that erupted around the table after Mr. Carson's departure, Mrs. Hughes left as quietly as she could and headed upstairs. It would not do for her to be seen sequestering herself with Mr. Carson immediately after such an announcement. Elsie did indulge herself in a brief scowl in Mrs. Butte's direction. To her credit, the woman had the self awareness to look contrite.

After an appropriate time had elapsed, she slipped back downstairs, ostensibly to speak to Mrs. Patmore. Finding the kitchens and halls deserted, Elsie knocked urgently on the butler's pantry and was admitted immediately.

He locked the door behind her. Even before he turned fully, she was in his arms. "I've missed you."

"Elsie, lass, it can't have been more than an hour." He shook his head at her, but smiled.

"Are you saying that you didn't miss me?" She asked accusingly.

Now he laughed. "More than I can say."

After some necessary attentions to one another's lips, they sighed in unison and broke apart, knowing that the time had come to get down to the business of undermining Mr. Barrow. They both knew that time was of the essence. He grudgingly allowed her to back out of his embrace and turn towards his desk.

Elsie noticed papers arranged all over his desk and walked over to examine them. She saw quickly that Charles had a separate piece of paper for each scandalous accusation Thomas had mentioned along with a few additions that the under butler had not mentioned. He seemed to have written everything he knew about each item. Most were just short snippets, some were longer and a few were blank.

"Is it wise to put this all in writing, Charles?"

"I will burn them all as soon as we are done tonight, but you know how my brain works; I needed to see everything in black and white to get a handle on the scope of the issue."

"It's quite a scope." She said with an awed reverence. "One could certainly make a compelling series of stories out of all of this. There isn't a paper in England that wouldn't kill for all this information."

"I wanted it all in one place so we could evaluate what we know, what we think Thomas knows and what we can do to defang his threats." Charles explained. "We know we can trust Anna and Bates and Lady Mary. We should try to recruit other key people, but they will not be in the inner circle."

She stared down at the desk with her hands on her hips and sighed with exasperation.

"Elsie, I know it looks daunting, but I think there are only a few glaring issues we are going to need to worry about." He stood behind her now, looking down at the desk. Charles pointed at three pieces of paper with large gaps of blank page. "We need to answer a few questions here. Firstly, we are going to have to know for certain where Anna, Mr. Bates and Lady Mary were on the day Green died."

"I can ask Anna about herself and Lady Mary. You had best ask Mr. Bates."

Charles nodded agreement and stifled a smile. This felt strangely like they were planning a house party and dividing up the responsibilities.

"And then there are these two items; things Mr. Barrow mentioned in passing, but caught my attention because they seemed so insignificant. Firstly, he mentioned Lady Grantham's miscarriage as one of the suspicious deaths. Does that not seem odd to you?"

"He certainly did not think much of it when it happened. I remember he and William coming to blows about that and William's mother's death."

"Exactly. I am sure it is nothing, but it still struck me."

"Do you really think it's important? I don't mean to be callous, but compared to these other items, it's insignificant. It was an accident and it happened before the war."

"Then why would Thomas mention it? Even though no one could blame the family for the Titanic or the War, people could look at those deaths as part of a curse. But the unsuccessful pregnancy of a woman of a certain age? That could hardly be considered abnormal."

Elsie picked up the half page he'd devoted to Her Ladyship's lost child. _"Unexpected pregnancy- child lost when Lady G. fell in bath. Slipped on broken bar of soap. Only witness- O'Brien. Child was boy- would have been heir."_

Despite the sad nature of the note, Elsie could not help but smile at his shorthand. She tried to picture him referring to Her Ladyship as 'Lady G' to her face. "With Miss O'Brien off in India, there isn't likely to be much more we can learn about that."

"I know, but we need to have an answer if Thomas tries to make something of it."

"Perhaps Anna or Lady Mary would know something. I shall mention it to Anna, who can speak to Lady Mary. What was the final item?"

"Miss Baxter. He intimated that I did not know everything about my staff. While that is undoubtedly true, I think I know most of them well enough, with the exception of Miss Baxter. Her credentials were in order, I assume?"

"In so far as I could tell. She had a reference from a house in London, but I do not know the name. Lady Grantham did not consult me much in her last two hirings." Elsie noted bitterly. "Miss Baxter's main reference was Thomas himself. Despite that, she seems to have fit in well and everyone rather likes her."

"It is unlike Thomas to go out of his way to help anyone without expecting something in return, is it not?"

"It is certainly unprecedented." Elsie agreed. "Miss Baxter will have to fall to Anna. She could reach out to Miss Baxter more. They have a natural connection, both being Lady's maids. Anna was in such a terrible place when Miss Baxter arrived and was hardly herself. I don't think she was much more than merely kind. There is definitely room for that relationship to grow."

"Good. We'll need someone who can perhaps gain Thomas' trust if we are to find out exactly what he knows. Miss Baxter seems like a reluctant confidant for Thomas at best."

Elsie looked at the rest of the desk. Though the papers looked scattered, Elsie thought she saw a pattern in them. They were roughly arranged chronologically and then separated by how potentially scandalous he considered them. "And is that all the information you are missing?"

"No. But I expect you are able to fill in the details for most of the others. Especially as it concerns Mr. Branson and Miss Braithwaite."

Elsie found the piece of paper that referenced Edna. It was in a position that indicated that Charles considered it an item of high scandal potential. She picked it up. It read: _E. Braithwaite, maid overly friendly with TB- dismissed. Returned as Lady G's Maid- left of own accord? 'Mad as hatters'? Ask E._

Placing the paper back on his desk, Elsie considered exactly what to tell Charles. The full story would take too long so she simply said, "They were only together one night, after which she tried to trap him with a fake pregnancy."

"You were right then; we should have sent her away, even if it upset Her Ladyship to know about Mr. Branson and Edna. I thought better of him." Charles sounded honestly disappointed in Tom, which oddly warmed Elsie's heart.

"I won't excuse his actions, but I do know that he was the prey to her predator."

"And how is it you know all this?"

"He came to me for help."

"And you saved him from her?"

"You could say that."

Charles struggled not to be jealous. When push came to shove downstairs at Downton, they all came to her, himself included. He understood. Compassion and empathy were not two words commonly used to describe Carson the butler. Elsie embodied those words but she was also capable of providing practical advice and solutions. It was a skill that he envied.

As if reading his mind, Elsie took his hand as he stood beside her. "You provide structure and stability for everyone, love. That's important too."

"But _you_ manage to do both. I don't understand how you do that."

"Just another advantage to being a woman, I suppose." She kissed him on his cheek, which cheered him considerably. "Let me look at what you have here."

Elsie sat at his desk and began pouring over his notes. She was surprised at some of the things he knew that she had assumed had escaped his attention, most notably the growing relationship between Mr. Molesley and Miss Baxter. Charles settled in his leather chair and let her work without distraction.

There was one note she had to stare at for some time before she could decipher it. _"C&E past/future? Late London night, beach, train. TB and Lady M know. When to tell Lord G?"_

"Is this about us, Charles?" She waved the note at him knowing full well he could not read it from that far, even if it was not moving. "Mr. Branson and Lady Mary both know about us?"

"Mr. Branson saw us the first night and Lady Mary saw us in the park. Did I not tell you? They are both highly supportive. Mr. Branson even offered to teach me to drive."

"To drive? How would that help us?"

"Chauffeurs are governed by different rules than butlers. I think he was kidding, but it might be an option we should consider." Charles shrugged.

Elsie understood that 'different rules' referred to the fact that chauffeurs can marry whereas butlers cannot. She stopped herself from pointing out that they had not really discussed marriage as such. She was certainly not opposed to the idea. "And Lady Mary? How did she show her support?"

"She gave me" Charles stumbled here. This was not how he wanted to ask her to marry him; in the middle of their strategy planning. "She gave me her word that she would not tell anyone and that she would side with us when we tell Lord Grantham."

Elsie eyed Charles warily, sensing there was something more to Lady Mary's involvement, but judging it the wrong time to pursue that line of questioning. "I've filled in what I know, Charles. I think we can start thinking about specific plans now."

All through the dinner service, while the other house servants fed the upstairs family, Charles and Elsie looked at each accusation case by case and slowly built a plan to negate each one. The over arching problem of the unscrupulous Mr. Barrow was still unsolved, but they couldn't dwell on that just now. They agreed on most of the points of their plan, but still disagreed about one major point.

"There is no other way, love."

"I disagree, Charles."

"Recruiting Mrs. Butte is essential to keeping track of Mr. Barrow and possibly tripping him up."

"But Anna could recruit her."

"Anna is already going to have her hands full with Miss Baxter. We've already agreed that we need Miss Baxter, Mrs. Butte or James; preferably all of them. If he is ever fool enough to put something in writing, it will be to one of them. You will work on James back at Downton. That only leaves me or Mr. Bates. Clearly, it has to be me."

"I know," Elsie conceded. "But that does not mean I have to be happy about it."

He looked across the table at her and cocked an eyebrow rakishly. "What is there about me trying to recruit Mrs. Butte that has you concerned?"

"It is a fine line between recruiting and seducing."

Charles laughed, "That is ridiculous, Elsie. Can you picture me seducing someone?"

_I often have._ "I am just saying, you will have to be careful with her. She may misinterpret your advances."

"I doubt that very much, my dear."

"You do have a history of making housekeepers fall in love with you." She reminded him, reaching across for his hand, which he gladly gave.

"There is only one housekeeper for me." He reached towards the small velvet pouch in his pocket just as a knock sounded on his door.

"Staff dinner in ten minutes, Mr. Carson."

"Thank you, Ivy." Charles sighed.

"I had best hurry upstairs. Beryl said she would send Ivy to fetch me a few minutes after she informed you." She began to bustle towards the door, her hand still holding Charles'. He pulled her towards him just as she cleared the desk corner. He wrapped his arms around her but stopped just short of kissing her.

"Elsie, will you accompany me on a walk after dinner this evening?"

"Of course, love. But you must let me go now." She gave him a quick peck and he released his grip on her. "And burn all those notes this instant." She reminded him before ducking quickly out the door.

Charles carefully gathered together all the papers from his desk and slipped them into a book. He then exited his office and headed directly for the boiler. Carson dropped the pages on top of the already burning coals and shoveled another layer of fresh coal on top of the paper for good measure. The crackling flames made quick work of the incriminating papers. Unbeknownst to Carson one little note did escape the fire, lodged securely in the pages of his book.

TBC…

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**A/N I hope this chapter was worth the wait. Things are about to get confusing and convoluted, but I hope it will be a fun ride. This story is NOWHERE NEAR over.  
**

**Next chapter...their walk before being separated. Hmmm. Whatever could they have to talk about?  
**

**Special note re:Highclere awards. Firstly, thank you to whomever submitted any of my stories for consideration, I really appreciate your taking the time to do so. It's _almost_ as awesome as a review;) **

**Secondly, while you cannot possibly make a bad choice in t****he Carson/Hughes categories (because all of our writers are awesome!), please do ****get out there and support our Chelsie writers against those legions of M/M, T/S and E/A shippers in the more general categories! **

**That is all.**


	40. Chapter 40

If lunch had been uncomfortable for the Grantham House staff, dinner was downright painful. Having yielded his place at the head of the table to Mr. Barrow, Mr. Carson sat at the extreme end of the long table. Mrs. Hughes sat quietly by his side. The table was essentially turned on its head as was the staff.

Discussion was subdued and even Mrs. Patmore's usual dinner commentary was uncharacteristically restrained. She had tried to lighten the mood early in the meal with some wry comment, "I've heard more chatter out of a Charlie Chaplin film. Did you all take oaths of silence?" But that had gone over like a lead balloon.

The most awkward moment came at the end of the meal. Most of the staff were done eating and desperate to escape the building atmosphere, but the official dismissal would not come. A few people pushed the remains of their pudding around their plate while most sat expectantly, their hands folded neatly in their lap. All conversation had died. As the silence grew, some of the younger maids and hall boys looked confusedly between the two ends of the table. Their pleading eyes darted between Mr. Carson, who sat placidly at the exiles end of the table, and Mr. Barrow, who would not make eye contact with anyone.

Surprisingly, it was Mrs. Butte who came to the rescue. "Are we not dismissed, Mr. Barrow?" She prompted.

Thomas flinched to hear his name in the silence. His face grew red with humiliation as he realized they were all waiting on him. "What? Oh, yes. Of course. You are all dismissed."

The table was practically empty before his sentence was done, but Mr. Carson took his time. He rose from his chair with a slow dignity. "Mr. Barrow, if you have a moment, I do have a few items to discuss with you before my departure tomorrow."

Thomas nodded, suddenly uncomfortable in the face of all this new responsibility. He knew Mr. Carson's job well enough, had been sharing much of it for the past few years, but there were apparently a thousand little details he had never considered.

"Shall we meet in your office?" Mr. Carson suggested, noticing Mr. Barrow's unease and knowingly adding to it.

"Certainly." Thomas agreed, trying to sound more confident than he felt. He left the servant's hall and headed to the butler's office.

"Anna and I were going to take a short walk. You can meet us at the northwest corner of the park when your business with Mr. Barrow is concluded." Elsie informed him.

"I won't be long." Charles whispered to Elsie.

"See that you are not." She whispered back in a low, thick brogue.

-00-

Less than thirty minutes later, Charles climbed the back steps to street level and headed towards the designated corner. He had left Mr. Barrow with a long list of London contacts, a pile of introductory letters and a mounting headache.

He saw the two women ahead of him on the sidewalk outside the park fence, their heads conspiratorially close. As he approached, they both looked up at him and broke apart.

"I'll leave you to it, Mrs. Hughes." Anna said, smiling. "Mr. Carson, Mr. Bates will be available tomorrow before breakfast to talk to you. Come down to our room any time after five."

"Thank you, Anna, I shall do that." Carson assured her, trying to be polite, but his attention was clearly not on Anna. His smile was only for Elsie.

Chuckling to herself, Anna walked back towards Grantham House. Her conversation with Mrs. Hughes had been very illuminating. She and John had much to discuss tonight, but not as much, she suspected, as Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes.

"Shall we walk?" Charles offered her his arm which she took quickly, nestling against him comfortably. They walked in contented solitude for a short distance, her hands clasped loosely over his arm, her head resting gently against his shoulder, his cheek resting on her hair.

Finally, he broke the silence. "Soon, my love, we will be strolling the paths of Downton like this, but until then, I shall miss you terribly."

"I don't have to go back tomorrow."

"That is news to me." Charles raised his head and an eyebrow at her.

"Well, I do have to go, but I could return. I could say I am visiting my sister and come back to London to be nearby." She suggested.

He considered for a moment, but then sighed. "As much as I would love for you to be nearby, Elsie, I don't think that is wise. What about our plan?"

"James is not really that important, is he?"

"No, but are you suggesting we leave him to run Downton on his own?"

"He's a good lad. A bit vain, but then the best butlers always are." She smiled at him mischievously.

Charles accepted her barb with a smile, but persisted. "He is prone to being lazy when left to his own devices. You will need to keep a sharp eye on him or the whole staff will become lazy."

"In only a week? I did not know the risk was so high."

"A house's morale may be destroyed in a single second, Elsie, I cringe to imagine the destruction that could be accomplished in a whole week."

"I just wanted to be near in case you might be worried about going to the clinic." She soothed a hand across his chest. He took her hand and kissed it.

"The clinic does not worry me, love. His Lordship says it is highly recommended. It won't be too bad, I shouldn't think. They won't do much more than stick me with a few needles and weigh me. That's all Dr. Clarkson ever does."

"It depends on how modern they think they are. But you are right; I am sure you will be fine. Though I think it likely that they may take away your puddings."

"Surely there is no reason for them to do that." Charles sounded appalled.

Elsie shook her head. "I don't know who I pity more, you or the clinic staff."

"What do you mean?"

"You are not exactly a very patient patient, Charles."

"I am a model patient." He protested, honestly believing what he said was true.

Elsie laughed at his sincerity. "Only for me. And even then, not always. After I became housekeeper, I was stuck looking after you when you were ill because you were so mean to my girls. They were terrified of you."

"And here I thought you took care of me because you were fond of me." He teased.

"Now, perhaps, but not the first time you were ill. Do you remember?"

"How could I forget? That stupid nag stepped on my foot while I as holding the carriage for the Dowager Countess. The doctor made me keep my foot elevated for almost a week before he figured out it wasn't broken."

"And you were a horrible, nasty bear for four straight days. One day I considered letting you go hungry, you were so unpleasant."

"I was in pain and I was stuck in my tiny room with nothing to do. I'd read all my books."

"If I'd have known all I needed to do was bring you something to read, I would have brought you a book the first day and it wouldn't have been so bad. It was Beryl who finally told me to find the thickest book in the library and bring it to you."

"I don't think I would ever have read Les Miserables on my own. I'm not a big fan of the French writers."

"I was not looking for an author I though you would enjoy, I was looking for the longest book I could find. The next time I came to check on you, you were as tame as a Teddy bear."

"Once you had tamed me, you could have relinquished your care of me. Why didn't you send your maids in to look after me?"

"They were still afraid of you."

"But you could have told them that I was no longer such an ogre."

"I could have, but it would have damaged your reputation. And I suppose that I wanted to keep that softer side of you to myself." She admitted, blushing in the darkness. "Though I do worry so when you are very ill, looking after you is something I have enjoyed most over our years together."

"If I'd known that, I would have been less ill more often." He smiled down at her happily. Charles looked around the street quickly before wrapping his arms around her and claiming a quick kiss. When he broke away from her, he smiled wolfishly. "Do you recognize where we are, love?"

Elsie looked around, seeing the street and the park but not knowing to what he referred. "Should I?"

"You were standing about here when I first realized that everything I had never dared to dream of was possible."

"Here?" Elsie asked, perplexed.

"Not exactly here. More like there." He pointed up into the tree behind her.

Elsie laughed. "This is my tree?"

He nodded. "Once I saw you trying to climb that tree; once I saw how desperately you were trying to reach me, I realized you might just be daft enough to love me despite my faults and despite the consequences."

"I never thought you would let me in. My first sign of hope was when you hung that key on the fence for me."

"Like this?" He removed a key from his pocket and hung it on the fence. At first, Elsie was amused by his nostalgic playfulness, but then she noticed something odd about the key and her whole body went numb. There was a ring tied to the key by a blue satin ribbon.

Charles knelt in front of her, beside the fence that only a few nights ago had separated them. "Elsie Hughes, I love you more than I can say. Will you take me as I am? Will you marry me and become my wife?"

Her tears and kisses were all the answer he needed. He stood up, picking her up in his arms as he rose. Slowly, their lips still pressed together, she slid down his chest until her feet were once again on the ground.

"I take it you are daft enough to accept me?" He panted happily as he took the key from the fence and untied the ring.

When her breath evened out and her voice returned, Elsie gasped. "I would be daft not to accept you, Charles. I do love you so and I would be honored to become your wife."

"I know things are uncertain at the moment, Elsie, but whatever the future holds, I have no fear if we face it together." He slipped the ring onto her finger. "I promise that very soon, you shall be a very happy woman."

"Of course I will be happy, you daft man. With you by my side, I have never been otherwise." Her renewed kisses assured him more thoroughly than her words ever could.

In that warm summer night, London breathed with the breath of a thousand lovers, but it's pulse beat only with the single shared heart of Charles Carson and Elsie Hughes.

TBC…

* * *

**A/N There should be at least a short bit of Valentine sweetness tomorrow.**


	41. Chapter 41

Elsie had known they would marry someday. She knew he would have to ask her at some point, but her mind was so full of their plans and their parting that this proposal had caught her completely off guard. _When had he bought a ring?_ She wondered, as she looked down at it for the first time with any real focus. She gasped at what she saw and almost took it off. With their future so uncertain, she felt he should not have spent so much for a ring. But it was so beautiful; she was reluctant to part with it.

"Charles, I cannot possibly accept this." She said with even less conviction than she felt.

"I know you cannot wear it openly yet, so I've gotten you this." He pulled a small golden chain from his pocket.

"That is not what I meant, Charles. This ring is too dear. You should not be spending so much money on such frivolous things right now."

"I am flattered that you think I could ever afford a ring such as this, love, but I did not buy it."

Her confused look made him smile.

"No, nor did I steal it. It is an engagement gift from Lady Mary." He saw Elsie start to protest so he rushed on to explain. "I tried to decline it, but she insisted. She said the ring was never hers and started talking about jewelry having personalities."

"Anna has mentioned that Lady Mary does have some silly notions about her jewelry." Elsie admitted.

"When she said this ring was meant for you, and I saw how it sparkled brilliantly blue, just like your eyes, how could I argue?" Charles gushed. "When you see it in proper lighting, you will understand what I mean."

"I think I do understand." She reached up to kiss him softly on the lips. "Would you please hold on to that chain for me? I'd like to wear my ring for the time being."

"Certainly." He agreed, as if he could deny her anything in that moment.

She pushed the chain back into his waistcoat pocket, letting one of her fingers trail teasingly down from the pocket to rest just above his belt.

Quickly, he took hold of her wandering hand and kissed it gently. "I wish I could afford to buy you the ring you deserve without Lady Mary's charity." He admitted sadly.

"I am not marrying you for your money, Charles, but you are a very rich man in other ways. You are respected by the family you serve and by the staff you command." She hugged him, her hands beneath his coat. "And, you have my love, which, though I flatter myself, is not without value."

He smiled and pulled her closer. "When I am with you, I feel as though I am the wealthiest man alive. When I am with you, I feel that I own the entire town."

"Well, we do have our own park." She teased. "That's very impressive."

"Shall we take a turn in our park?" He held up the key and gestured towards the nearby gate. She took the key from him and led him to the gate, unlocking it quickly so they could both slip in to the darkened park.

Only last night, they had walked this same path, two people separated by his past. Now, they walked it as two people united by a common future. His arm was draped over her shoulder and her arm was wrapped around his back, her hand resting on his hip underneath his day coat. Walking while wrapped so closely together was not an easy prospect. They jostled each other constantly and their progress was slow, not that they had any real destination in mind. Elsie was thankful when she spotted a bench and felt him turn them towards it.

When they sat on the bench, they began kissing in earnest. They were both exceedingly frustrated as they tried to find a position on the bench that would bring them even closer. His arm was behind her and their bodies were twisted towards each other, but not in a way that would be comfortable for very long. She quickly gave up on keeping her feet demurely on the ground. She felt they were beyond the point where propriety mattered.

He pulled her into his lap, one hand holding her by her waist and the other wrapped around her legs, gripping her under her knees trying to surround her tiny body within the wide compass of his arms. Her hands were buried in his hair as she whispered soft nothings into his ear, encouraging him as his lips explored her arched white neck.

Their teasing intimacies of last night had been timid and cautious. This evening was different. There was urgency and mutual hunger tonight. His hands caressed her confidently and possessively, all thoughts of gentlemanly behavior were banished by his need to feel her. Her body pressed against him as if defying the layers of cloth between them.

Elsie felt her body begin to awaken in bursts of heat deep inside. She knew that she loved him, had known for years, but she had never understood how much she wanted him until this moment. It was dangerous for them to be here, unseen in the darkness, with these feelings of desire glowing red hot between them. She knew it, but she did not care.

Elsie shifted in his grip, gratified, but not surprised to feel his body beneath her respond. As she tried to turn her body even closer to him, he grunted incoherently and pushed her off of his lap. He stood up quickly and walked away. Dazed, Elsie looked around for him and laughed when she realized the truth. He was hiding behind a nearby tree.

"Charles, what are you doing?" She could see that he was doubled over.

"Trying to protect your reputation, lass. Which is more than I can say for you."

She could not stop giggling. "Will you come back, love?"

"Give me some time, love. I want to spend every possible moment with you, Elsie, before we part tomorrow, but there must be rules or I shall not be able to stop myself this time."

"I promise to behave myself, Charles. Now come back here and sit with me."

He let out an exasperated breath and straightened up. He knew he was playing with fire, but he needed the warmth.

Charles rounded the bench. Elsie sat at one end, her hands demurely in her lap. He sat at the other end of the bench. She frowned her disappointment at him. "I don't bite."

"That has not been my experience." He countered, smirking.

"Well, not much." She giggled before becoming more serious. "Charles, I need to touch you or it feels like we are already miles apart."

"I know I am irresistible," he joked, reaching his hand towards her. "But I am only human and if you cannot behave yourself, lass, we may have a situation on our hands."

"Just lay your head here, love, and I promise to be good." She patted her lap.

Charles gulped. He was sure she would be good. _Blast it, man! Control yourself. You are not some young buck. _Charles leaned back slowly and lay his head in the dark silk of her dress. She stroked his hair lightly with one hand as her other hand lay on his chest. He sighed and closed his eyes. "Elsie, the second I am out of that clinic, I am coming to Downton and we are going to be married. We'll get a special license, because I am not waiting for the Banns."

"Are you so eager as that, Charles?"

"Couldn't you tell?" He teased, as he took her hand from his chest and brought her fingers to his lips.

"I may not be a woman of the world, but I didn't grow up in a convent." She smiled down at him, tracing his lips with her fingers. His eyes were still closed. He could be asleep except for the movement of his hand, caressing her arm as it lay across his chest. This was not going to remain safe for very long if they did not start talking about a different subject very soon.

He must have had the same thought, for he opened his eyes and said, "Tell me a story about your childhood."

"What do you want to hear about?"

"Preferably something about climbing trees."

"Ah, well, I'll tell you about the last time I climbed a tree, as a girl, that is."

He closed his eyes and waited for her story, like a child being tucked into bed.

"I was eleven years old. A schoolmate of mine had a cat who had just given birth to a litter of kittens. I begged my parents everyday for three weeks to let me have one of the kittens. Finally, my father relented, much to my mother's displeasure."

Charles smiled to think of a stubborn young lass slowly wearing her father down.

"I promised I would care for the cat and feed it and train it to hunt mice. I did all these things, but Willoughby preferred to hunt birds rather than mice."

"Willoughby? You named your cat Willoughby?"

"For a young girl obsessed with Austen, it was the perfect name. I didn't realize he was a villain until my third time reading Sense and Sensibility. In any event, the name was perfect for him. He was beautiful and proud and fickle."

"Fickle?"

"You'll see." She assured him. "As I said, Willoughby liked to hunt birds. He would chase them along the fences and over the rooftops. One day, I could not find him when we returned from church. After looking for him, I finally heard him yowling. I followed the sound and found he was up the tallest tree on our farm. He was trying to reach a nest, but was being attacked by the parents; two very angry Jay birds.

"He was still a wee thing, so I thought I needed to protect him. I had been told several years before that climbing trees was not a proper activity for a young lady, but without thinking, I started to climb. I was halfway up the tree when the birds decided I was a greater threat than the cat and they began to attack me. I lost my grip and fell, hitting my arm on a branch on the way down, just here." Elsie pointed to her left ulnar bone. "It broke cleanly."

"Although my arm didn't hurt too much, I knew better than to move about with it, so I called for my parents. All the commotion scared the birds away, but that fool cat would not come down no matter how I called to him. After my father had gone to fetch the cart to take me to the doctor, my mother came out of the house with a saucer of milk. She put it on the ground and called the cat's name. He came straight down."

"I swear, that cat actually jumped over me on his way to the milk." Charles laughed with her. "Needless to say, from that day forward, it was my mother's cat."

She was silent for a few moments and Charles sensed something was wrong. Sitting up, he put his arm around her. "What is it, love?"

"He really was my mother's cat. He was always a bit of a wandering Tom; half the cats in Argyll were related to him, I've no doubt. But when my mother fell ill, my sister said that Willoughby came home to stay. He never left my mother's side through her whole illness. He even followed us to the churchyard when we buried her. We never saw him after."

Charles wiped a tear from Elsie's cheek. "I didn't mean for you to be sad, lass."

"I'm not sad." His look said he did not believe her. "Not really. I'm just being nostalgic. I'd forgotten about that blasted cat."

"Is he why you don't like cats?"

"Who says I don't like cats?" She asked defensively.

"I've never heard you have a kind word to say for the species."

"But have I ever said an unkind word?"

"You did say something rather derogatory about the Dower House cats once."

"That was aimed at the Dowager Countess, not the cats."

"Ah. That makes more sense, I suppose." He chuckled and pulled her gently against him, her head resting on his shoulder chastely.

"Charles?"

"Yes, love?"

"Lady Mary is on our side and she'll win Lord Grantham over for us, I know, but…" she struggle to form the question, afraid of the answer.

"But what?"

"But no one is going to make the Dowager think this is a good idea. I know how much her opinion means to you. Are you really prepared for her displeasure?"

"She will think falling in love so late in life is unseemly, I've no doubt. And for her class, it probably is. I have known Lady Violet since I was a young man and her opinion does mean a great deal to me, but if I allowed our happiness to depend upon pleasing her, I would be a fool indeed." He leaned down and kissed her cheek.

"Nothing is more important to me than your happiness, Elsie, and she may surprise you. She respects you very much and she does have a good heart, no matter how hard she tries to conceal it."

Elsie turned towards him and kissed his lips. "I don't really want to think about the Dowager just now, Charles."

"Lass, we must be careful." He warned, feeling the heat between them building again.

"But I won't be allowed to say goodbye properly in the morning. I want to do so now." She cooed seductively.

He shrugged noncommittally to this. His idea of saying goodbye properly was becoming more inappropriate by the second. "But we must be careful," he repeated, his brain incapable of higher thought.

"As long as we keep our feet on the ground, we'll be fine." She promised.

"Easier said than done." He tried to whimper, but his words were lost as her lips captured his lower lip.

Several hours later, their lips and tongues swollen from kissing and their backs aching from twisting towards each other on the bench, Charles and Elsie unlocked Grantham House's servant's entrance and snuck inside. Their clothes were a little disheveled, but both their honors remained intact.

"Goodnight, my love."

"Goodnight."

As she climbed the stairs to her bedroom, Elsie's fingers felt for the ring which now rested against her bosom. They were promised to one another and they would soon be husband and wife. Tonight, she floated up the stairs as light as feather. The stairs to the women's hallway did not creak at all.

TBC…

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**AN/ Happy Valentine's Day to all! I really almost let them go M, but that's not who they are in this story.**

**Tomorrow, back to the cold, harsh light of day.**

**Read, review, repeat, blah blah blah, yada yada yada.  
**


	42. Chapter 42

A groggy and grumpy Charles Carson knocked on the Bates' bedroom door at two minutes after five on Tuesday morning. He had slept less than an hour and had not bothered to shave this morning. He hadn't really seen the point. Waking up had only presented him with a day with no responsibilities; a day that would see him separated from Elsie.

Cheerfully, Anna opened the door and smiled up at him. "Good morning, Mr. Carson. I trust you slept well?"

"Hmph," was his curt reply. He saw no reason to hide his foul mood from Anna and Mr. Bates.

"Won't you come in, Mr. Carson?" Mr. Bates called from inside the room.

"I'll go get a spot of tea and leave you both." Anna touched Mr. Carson's arm gently as she passed. Even this simple gesture buoyed Carson's spirits and focused him on the task at hand.

"Good morning, Mr. Bates. Thank you for making the time to see me this morning." He shut the door behind him.

"Nonsense, Mr. Carson, I am always available to help you or Mrs. Hughes. Anna has brought me up to speed on the situation with Thomas for the most part."

"I am glad to hear it. That will make my business this morning very straight forward." Carson was still standing formally just inside the bedroom door.

"I suspect I know what it is you are going to ask. I will answer what I can, but I cannot promise that it will satisfy you."

"It is not me you will have to satisfy, Mr. Bates. Worst case scenario, you will have to convince the authorities."

"I hope they prove easier to fool than Mrs. Hughes." John said wryly.

"She is not easily fooled, Mr. Bates." Charles agreed. "Which makes me wonder, why would you lie to Mrs. Hughes about not being in London since your mother's funeral? I myself could name a dozen times you've been here with His Lordship since the war. And you came here at least briefly with the first Mrs. Bates when you left Downton. Why risk such an obvious lie?"

John shook his head and began to pace. "I cannot say. I had other things on my mind and it just felt easier to lie. Apparently, I did not think it through."

"Apparently. I am not one for beating about the bush, Mr. Bates. I feel like a fool for failing to see what happened to Anna, but I do know now." He saw John's muscles tense. "Do not blame Mrs. Hughes for telling me; it was Thomas who informed me."

"And I am sure he enjoyed that."

"I believe he did." Charles agreed. "I am so sorry. I feel responsible for not protecting her better."

"It wasn't your place to protect her, Mr. Carson; it was mine." John said, his voice deep with self-loathing. "You cannot possibly imagine what it is like to know you have failed someone so completely."

"But I can imagine it, John. I find I can imagine it until it makes me sick." Charles said honestly. "In the interest of protecting Anna now, I must ask you; where you in London the day Mr. Green died?"

John remained grimly silent and unmoving.

"Did you have a hand it that disgusting man's death?"

John gazed steadily at Charles and shook his head.

"Truth be told, I would not blame you if you told me you had killed the man. I would be surprised, but I would not blame you." Charles assured him. "If you say you had no part of it, I believe you, but we must be prepared for Mr. Barrow's accusations. If you do not have an alibi for that day, we must make one."

"I have friends in York who will testify that I was with them."

"And were you? John, I need to know."

"No. I was in London, but I did not kill that filthy bastard. I wanted to, but I could not risk losing Anna." John stared at his own clenched fists.

"Then where were you?"

"Whatever I tell you must not reach Anna."

"I would agree, but we will not be able to keep it from her if Thomas attacks you. Knowing the attack is coming is our only advantage."

"Perhaps you should have a seat, Mr. Carson." John gestured to the ladder backed chair beside the door. Carson sat on the edge of it expectantly.

-00-

His unsavory task completed, Carson left Mr. Bates in his bedroom. He understood why John would not want Anna to know his activities on that day, but her lack of knowledge could be suspicious if anyone came around to investigate. He had encouraged John to speak to Anna about his London trip sooner rather than later. Carson was convinced the truth would not be as difficult for Anna to accept as John seemed to think.

Of course, it was possible none of this would ever be relevant. Green's death had been ruled accidental over a year ago, there was no reason to expect a new investigation. No reason beyond Mr. Barrow, but that was reason enough to be prepared.

Carson stood in the hallway like a lost man. He could not go to his own office or Elsie's for neither of them could claim an office in Grantham House at the moment. It was too early for breakfast and he had no reason to return to his room. He was packed for the clinic already; a small valise was all they allowed. He had packed his remaining effects in a larger bag in case he was allowed to return directly to Downton, which was his dearest wish.

With nothing better to do, Charles thought he might as well start his campaign to win over Mrs. Butte. He did not have much time to accomplish this daunting task which he knew would not be the work of one day. He thought it was a good idea to start laying some groundwork before he left for the clinic.

He knew she was an early riser, so he headed towards her office. "Good morning, Mrs. Butte." He called, after knocking.

She cracked the door slightly and looked out from behind it as if she were afraid of him. Knowing a smile would be disingenuous, Charles contented himself with nodding formally. "I wanted to be sure everything was in order between you and Mr. Barrow before I left."

"Oh, I believe things are settling between us, Mr. Carson." She opened the door a bit more, but not in an inviting way. Carson could hardly blame her. He'd never spent much time in her office when they were on what he would consider good terms. She could hardly be happy to see him after her betrayal.

"I am glad to hear it. Just don't let him make you do all the work while he takes all the credit." Carson warned with a wry smile and walked away.

_Well, that's two minutes down and only two hours to go._ Charles thought as he headed to the kitchen for some tea. For a man whose job was all about waiting, Charles could be a very impatient man when he had nothing to do.

"Good morning, Mr. Carson," came the lilting voice of his lady love. She was dressed for traveling in a cream blouse, a dark blue pinstriped vest and matching skirt. Elsie descended the stairs looking as bright and fresh as the first dove on the first morning.

He looked adoringly up at her. The thought briefly flashed through his mind that if someone saw him at that moment, he would give them away, but he did not care. "Good morning, Mrs. Hughes. You look quite pleased to be returning to Downton."

"I am, Mr. Carson, and I am not ashamed to admit it." She smiled benevolently down on him. Charles looked as though he'd been drug behind yesterday morning's milk truck. He had clearly not shaved and his hair was in a rebellious state. If he had not been wearing his tweed suit, Elsie would have wondered if he'd slept in his clothes. To Elsie, he looked divine. She could not resist teasing him. "Mr. Carson, if you arrive at the clinic in that condition, they will never let you leave."

"And who is to blame for that, I wonder?" He whispered as she reached the bottom of the stairs.

Her impish smile dissolved quickly as her posture straightened and she spoke around him, "Good morning, Mr. Barrow." For the under butler, her voice did not so much lilting as it was wilting.

"Mrs. Hughes; Mr. Carson," was all the time a harried Mr. Barrow spared them. It was not yet six in the morning and already Thomas felt he was falling behind.

Elsie's expression brightened after Mr. Barrow had left them. "We may not need to do much more, Mr. Carson. If we are patient, our good under butler may just work himself to death."

"I should tell them to put aside a room at the clinic for him." Charles smiled. "Would you care for some tea or coffee, Mrs. Hughes?"

"Coffee sounds like a wonderful idea, Mr. Carson. I did not get much sleep last night." She said loudly, before dropping her voice to whisper, "And who is to blame for that, I wonder?"

A very smug looking Mr. Carson led her through to the servant's hall. The downstairs around them was beginning to fill with busy staff preparing for the day. The superfluous housekeeper and butler sat at the far end of the servant's table sipping their morning coffee and chatting amiably. They were both glad of these moments of normalcy before their impending goodbye, which was approaching more quickly than either wished to acknowledge. Whenever the hall was briefly empty, Elsie would reach for him under the table with her hand or her foot, anything to make a physical connection with him.

Ultimately, breakfast was served. As the meal ended, word was brought down that Mr. Carson's cab was waiting. Charles retrieved his valise from the boiler room and headed for the back door. Whatever staff remained downstairs lined up along the hall and out into the tiny sunken courtyard to bid him adieu. Charles was touched by the gesture. He paused at the bottom of the stairs and turned to face the assembled staff. His gaze skimmed over Elsie but he dare not let it rest there. She had a brave face on, but he knew better than to test her resolve or his own. He noticed that her left hand was resting at her neck where he knew her ring hung beneath her blouse.

"Thank you. I shall be back soon," he managed to say. "Behave yourselves, or I shall hear of it." Seeing Daisy's earnest nodding, Charles softened the harshness of his statement with a quirky half smile and a wink before turning and disappearing as he walked towards his taxi.

Elsie thought her heart was going to burst. She'd seen him off dozens of times, but never amidst such a maelstrom of emotions. They were promised to each other. She was confident they would be married as soon as he returned to Downton but over all this promised joy there hung the threats of Mr. Barrow. It was a difficult time to be separated.

Elsie felt a hand on her arm. "Mrs. Hughes, could you please help me in the kitchen?"

"Certainly, Mrs. Patmore, it would be my pleasure." Grateful for somewhere to go, Elsie smiled down at Beryl. She followed her friend through the kitchen and into the pantry to compose herself.

-00-

Charles stepped into his cab, his head down, his emotions rising. It took him a moment to realize that he was not alone in the back of the taxi. Startled, Carson sat up straighter in the seat.

"Good morning, Carson. I hope you don't mind the company?"

"Of course not, My Lady. Shall I sit up front?"

"I think not, Carson." Lady Mary smiled at him. "That would make it very difficult for us to talk and I think we need to talk."

TBC…

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**AN/ I promise not to keep them apart for too long, but I am going to have some fun with it.**

**Readers are awesome. People who leave reviews are super awesome!**


	43. Chapter 43

"I heard some very interesting things from Anna this morning." Lady Mary began as the cab pulled away from Grantham House. "It seems Mr. Barrow has a larger target in his sights than your job."

"It appears so, My Lady."

"It was bad enough when he was going after you, but now he's threatened all of us, upstairs as well as down."

"Has Anna told you exactly what he said?"

"She told me enough. You mustn't think twice about protecting me from my scandal." Mary said boldly. "If the incident with Mr. Pamuk was all he had to sell, I'd have fired Barrow this morning and told father not to send you off to this ridiculous clinic."

They'd never discussed the Turk between them since the terrible rumors. Carson had been content to imagine that the rumors had just been lies. Hearing her speak about the matter so rationally, as good as admitting the veracity of the rumor, was not easy for him. He looked into her face and could tell, despite her emotionless voice, it was not easy for her either. Her eyes begged him not to judge her. Carson decided to gloss over a matter that neither of them wished to discuss further. "But he has more to tell than just that, My Lady."

Relieved, Mary followed his lead. "Yes, and taken all together, it does create a sordid tale. Anna tells me we have answers for most of the accusations and we are left with three main problems; Mr. Green's fate, Miss Baxter and something she didn't want to discuss with me today."

Elsie and Charles had decided it was not necessary to worry any of the family about Lady Grantham's miscarriage until they had learned more. "It is a delicate matter, My Lady and something that may be painful for you. If you need to know, I trust Anna and Mrs. Hughes will bring you into the picture."

"I shall accept that for now." Mary said in her usual high tone. "Concerning the death of that terrible man, Anna thinks you only needed alibis from me and from her, but I know better. She does not know Mr. Bates was in London that day."

"I cannot disclose the details, but we do not have to worry about Mr. Bates as it regards Mr. Green."

"You are sure?"

"I am."

"But he _was_ in London."

"Yes, My Lady, but I am satisfied with Mr. Bates' accounting for his time that day. Apparently, the same Fates that brought that detestable man into Anna's life also saw fit to end his."

"I would not have blamed Mr. Bates, but I am glad to know we won't have to worry about Anna being separated from him again. I only hope Green didn't die quickly." Lady Mary said darkly. "I hope he died terrified and in pain."

Carson seconded these hopes, but he was surprised at the vindictiveness displayed by his dear Lady Mary. They let the dark thoughts dissipate as the cab moved through London.

"So, my assignment is to determine what I can about Miss Baxter?" Mary brought the conversation back on track. "It shouldn't be too hard to find out exactly what references she offered Mama. Once we have the name of the London family whom she served, I will see what I can find. Digging deeper than that may prove a challenge."

"I believe you are equal to that challenge, My Lady." Carson assured her proudly.

"Yes? So do I." For a fleeting moment Mary wondered what she might have become in life without this man's belief in her. It was not a thought on which she wished to linger.

"It may all prove a waste of time, My Lady. I'm not entirely sure Mr. Barrow was referencing Miss Baxter at all, but I'd like to eliminate the possibility that he may surprise us there. She is an unknown quantity, which makes me nervous."

"Leave nothing to chance, Carson? I quite agree."

"She is most likely blameless, so please do be careful not to make Lady Grantham suspicious of her. I would not wish for her position to be in jeopardy. She is well liked below stairs."

"I can't say I have much opinion of her at all. She is so soft spoken, it is hard to remember when she is in the room. That is a fine trait in a spy." Mary pointed out.

"We don't know that she is spying for him. We certainly cannot assume it, but we should be careful around her."

"Spy or not, her demeanor is a thousand times preferable to her two predecessors. Though that is not saying very much." She laughed. Carson was encouraged by her optimistic attitude. She did not seem to fear her family's disgrace as much as Carson feared it for her.

"And what do we have in store for Mr. Barrow?"

"What do you mean, My Lady?"

"We aren't going to sit back and wait for him to attack us, are we? He's already had you banished. I think this war has well and truly begun. We've planned our defense, but what is our plan of attack?"

Carson was not prepared for this question. "We've not gotten that far. We didn't have much time."

"I am impressed by what you've accomplished so quickly, but we cannot leave it there." Mary considered for a moment. "We shall have to attack him at his most vulnerable point."

"Which is?"

"His fondness for men, Carson. It is a crime, after all."

Carson shifted in his seat. "I could hardly be called a liberal, My Lady, but attacking a man for being something he did not choose to be seems rather harsh."

"If you are a liberal, Carson, then I am a Bolshevik," Mary joked, "But you are being too kind. I cannot pretend to know everything Mr. Barrow has chosen in his life. All I know is that he has chosen to attack my family and my butler."

"The man is a liar, a thief and a blackmailer. Shouldn't we go after him for those transgressions?"

"And so we shall, but that does not mean we will not use everything we know to our advantage."

"But wouldn't exposing him be an embarrassment to the family?"

"We don't have to expose him to beat him. We only have to scare him or discredit him to the point where no one will believe anything he brings to them."

Carson looked very uncomfortable with this plan. With all the deplorable things about Mr. Barrow, it felt wrong to him to focus on something so personal. Mary read his misgivings in his body language.

"If you do not have the stomach for this, Carson, you had best leave it to the women. I will visit Downton later this week. Between Mrs. Hughes, Anna and myself, we will have a plan in place before you return from the clinic."

"And do you have any idea when that may be? I've been told nothing about this clinic." His words were calm, but his tone was fearful.

Mary wished she could set his mind at ease, but she could not. "All I know is that Papa is expecting you back in two weeks and he says the clinic is very highly recommended."

Carson was not comforted by this. Mary could not blame him; 'highly recommended' could mean any number of things. "Two weeks? With Mr. Barrow on the loose, that is an eternity. Why ever would it take two weeks to assess my health?"

"I cannot tell you, Carson." Mary said sympathetically. Then her face suddenly brightened. "Carson! I nearly forgot. Congratulations are in order. Anna told me of your engagement. Mrs. Hughes showed Anna the ring, which she immediately recognized and Mrs. Hughes gave her permission to discuss it with me. I am so very happy for you both."

"Thank you, My Lady."

"You do work quickly." It touched Mary to see Carson blush at her words.

"Your encouragement spurred me on."

"Then I shall have something joyous to plan with Mrs. Hughes this week in addition to Mr. Barrow's downfall." Mary was talking to herself now, as women often speak of weddings in the presence of men as though the men were not there. "Of course it must be by special license. The Banns would be far too public. And we much convince father to let you return to Downton."

She finally realized Carson was still there. She patted his knee reassuringly. "Leave it to me, Carson. If I cannot be planning my own wedding, I shall content myself with planning yours."

"Do you wish you were planning your own wedding, My Lady?"

This question caught her up short. "I don't know. I've three very pleasant men who have all expressed their undying devotion to me and yet." She considered her next words very carefully. "It is so difficult to know what is best for George and for me. I do not feel for any of them what I felt for Mr. Crawley."

"If I may be so bold, you never will."

"But then I am destined to be alone for the rest of my life?"

"I did not say that, My Lady. I am only saying that you will be making a mistake if you wait to feel for anyone the way you felt with him. Every relationship, every love is unique. You cannot replicate what you had with Mr. Crawley, but that does not mean you cannot find love."

"You are confusing me, Carson. How can I love again and not feel what I felt for Mr. Crawley?"

"My occupation has given me the opportunity to observe many courtships and marriages and I find relationships are complicated equations with a thousand different variables. And there is more than one way to calculate love." Mary looked even more confused now. Carson tried another approach. "Your parents love you, My Lady."

"Of course."

"As they love Lady Edith, as they loved Lady Sybil and as they love her still, through Mr. Branson and young Miss Sybbie. They loved and love you all equally, but they do not love you the _same_ because you are not the same."

Mary considered this. "So whomever I love next will be Lady Edith? Poor man."

Carson saw though her deflection and smiled kindly at her. "Or he could be Lady Sybil."

Mary's response was forever silenced as the cab pulled to a stop outside an austere and imposing building. There were black bars mounted on the large windows set in the white washed cement façade. It looked like a place of rehabilitation, not of healing.

"Oh, dear." Mary whispered as they both looked out the cab window. "I wish I could come in with you, Carson, but I must pay a call on a friend, as I told Mama, or they will wonder where I've been."

The cabbie opened the door and Carson stepped reluctantly to the curb. Mary handed him his valise and gave him an encouraging smile.

"You'll be fine, Carson. I shall visit you after I've spoken to Mrs. Hughes. It is best not to put anything in writing at this point."

He nodded, but had no voice. The cab door closed and Lady Mary leaned out the opened window. "Behave yourself, Carson, and do try to enjoy this little vacation. You deserve it."

Carson watched the cab disappear around the corner before turning back to face the clinic. He had a terrible memory of being left on the doorstep of a great estate, his father's parting words to him being, "Behave yourself."

TBC…

* * *

**AN/ Thank you for all the kind words and encouragement. Tomorrow's chapter will feature a little Elsie, but for a while, our focus will be on Charles and his experiences in the clinic. We shall let the ladies plot off screen for a bit.  
**

**Also tomorrow...I will be launching the experimental project that I alluded to a week or so ago. More to come on that, but do not be surprised when a story shows up tomorrow with a very similar name, but a very different tone.**


	44. Chapter 44

Elsie watched the landscape blur by her window. The dense houses of London had quickly given way to divided fields and rolling hills golden with the grasses of summer. She smiled at the subtle changes as they approached home. The grass became greener as the land became harder. The train passed through quaint agricultural hamlets and the occasional factory town. The Dowager had insisted on taking the express and Elsie was grateful.

The tea cart had come and gone. Ivy and Daisy had finally, _thank the Lord_, fallen asleep after enjoying their tea with the sandwiches and treats supplied by Mrs. Patmore. The two kitchen maids had been talking nonstop since London; Ivy gushing about moving to America and asking Daisy for menu recommendations and the like. Elsie had felt sorry for James and had sent him on an errand to take their food basket up to first class for Tom and the Dowager Countess.

The relief on James' face when he returned to find the girls asleep was palpable. He sat close to Mrs. Hughes so he could speak to her without fear of waking the blissfully silent pair.

"Her Ladyship sends her thanks to you and Mrs. Patmore. She was very disappointed with the choices on the tea cart."

"When I saw it come through, I knew she would be upset. Their choices were very sparse."

James smiled. "It's amazing how well you know them all."

"I've been serving this family over twenty years, James. In that time, you come to know more about them than you know about yourself."

"I don't think I could serve in the same house for that long."

"Twenty years ago, I certainly didn't think I'd still be at Downton this far down the road. But the house and the family" _and a certain butler_ "suited me, so here I am."

"Have you never considered leaving?"

"In this profession, James, finding a loyal family like the Crawleys is far from assured. Though there is the added pressure, of course."

"Added pressure?"

"A family who offers loyalty demands loyalty in return. It is no small commitment."

James almost recoiled at the word commitment. Elsie smiled; he was so young, he could no more settle on one household than he could settle on one girl.

"It's not the life for everyone, James." She smiled kindly at him. "You'll gain plenty of experience here and then you'll find your way to what suits you."

James dropped his eyes from hers. Did she know about his last conversation with Mr. Barrow? Thomas had been vague, but it was clear he expected Jimmy to keep an eye on Mrs. Hughes and report anything strange the housekeeper might get up to. He'd even asked Jimmy to try and intercept her letters from Mr. Carson. "You don't have to read them, just stop them from getting through. You can burn them if you like, or, if you can do it without being caught, you should send them on to me," Thomas had said.

"Are you alright, James?" Elsie asked, worried that he was beginning to look ill.

"I am fine, Mrs. Hughes. I am just nervous about the task ahead. The Dowager has already invited herself over for dinner tomorrow night."

"That was expected. You'll do just fine, James. Mr. Carson and I have faith in you."

Jimmy smiled nervously and nodded. He did not want to be a part of Mr. Barrow's games. It was probably just Thomas being Thomas; prying into everyone's business. "I hope Mr. Carson is well and will be back at Downton very soon, Mrs. Hughes."

"Thank you, James." She patted his hand before staring back out the window to hide the glistening tears in her eyes. She too hoped Charles was well and would be home soon. She wondered what he was doing right now.

-00-

"Here is your room, Mr. Carson. You will find your uniform and schedule on your bed. Your first appointment is in a half hour. I'll leave you to settle in."

"Thank you, Mr…"

"You can call me Lucas." The large, white clad man said gruffly.

"Thank you, Lucas." After the door was closed, Charles looked around at his accommodations. They were Spartan, even by his standards. The only furniture in the room was a small bedside table with two drawers and the aforementioned bed. It was a tiny, metal framed bed with a thin mattress rolled up at one end with a set of stark white sheets setting atop it. Beside this set a pile of clothes and a sheet of paper. Setting the clothes and paper on the table for the moment, Charles made the bed to military standards in the blink of an eye. He was surprised to find there was no pillow. He would inquire after one at his first appointment.

Charles picked up his 'uniform' and quickly set it back down. They could not be serious. A grown man could not spend the entire day dressed like that. He skimmed the schedule, his anxiety rising as he read each strange appointment that was to fill the remainder of his day. He noticed a glaring oversight; there was no mention of lunch or tea. There was something called 'evening repast' scheduled for 6pm, but that could not be the only meal left for him today. He'd eaten very little at breakfast, focusing on Elsie and his coffee. He pulled out his pocket watch. It was still over twenty minutes until his first appointment. He hoped very much the title of the appointment did not mean what he suspected it meant.

With so much time to spare, Charles decided to arrange his belongings as best he could in the tiny bedside drawers. Organizing his clothes always helped to calm his nerves. He had unfolded and folded his undershirts at least twenty times before he could sleep the night before Lady Mary's wedding.

Charles opened his valise and his unpacking was forgotten. An envelope had been slipped into his luggage. Savoring this last connection to her, Charles held the unopened envelope for a moment before sitting on the end of his bed to read it.

_Dearest, _

_Though I know I shall see you before you leave, I cannot be sure I will have the opportunity to express to you the smallest fraction of the love that I feel. In the decades we have been together, I have always dreaded our time apart, but never more than now. Not because I doubt you will return to me or because I fear our passions will cool, rather because since the moment we first kissed, my desire for you has grown until I fear it will consume me before we are reunited. _

_How am I to present a calm and practical face to the world when my heartbeat races at the merest reminder of you? How am I to be at Downton without thinking constantly of you?_

_If only Lord Grantham would take my assessment of your health and your heart over the 'expertise' of this renowned clinic. I would make him see that he will never know a kinder or truer heart than yours. I would tell him you are the strongest person I have ever known. I would show him how the foundation of his very household has rested on your broad and capable shoulders for so many years._

_Hurry home to me, my love, my heart, or I shall come to London to claim you._

_Yours to the point of distraction, E_

Charles could not have said how many times he read her letter. By the fifth time, the words were burned into his heart. He was not so much reading her words as he was trying to draw her essence from the ink.

He smiled as he thought, _Elsie is calling me strong? That's rich. She's a thousand times stronger than me. All this time I've supposedly been holding the house on my shoulders, she's been holding me in the palm of her hand._

Just as he was fantasizing that she would, indeed, come to rescue him from this sterile place, a knock sounded at his door. It was not the confident, but gentle knock he wanted to hear. This knock was impatient and brash. "Time for your eleven o'clock, Mr. Carson." Came an equally brash, heavily accented female Scottish voice.

Without waiting for a reply, a mountain of a woman walked into his room pushing a wheeled cart before her. The bottom of the cart contained piles of towels. The top was covered with yet another towel, which was obviously arranged to cover something. She stopped in the doorway and looked at him in disbelief. "Why, man, you're not even in uniform!"

"Yes, well, I should like to speak to someone about that." He began.

"Do they not fit? I can get you different sizes if you need."

"That is not the problem, Miss. The problem is a white undershirt and a pair of white shorts do not qualify as a uniform." Charles tried to keep the panic out of his voice. "With whom should I discuss this?"

"I'm not really sure what you need to discuss. Everyone wears the uniform. It's nonnegotiable, as they say."

Charles was not ready to give up so easily. "But if it _were_ negotiable, with whom would I negotiate?"

She sighed in exasperation. This fellow was going to be one of the stubborn ones. Didn't these rich chappies always want to talk their way out of what they'd signed on for?

"That would be Dr. Ransom. But you're not scheduled to see him until four and you'll look a fool walking about in your suit until then. But that is not my department and the longer we chat, the colder this gets." She shrugged and motioned towards her cart. "And believe me; you don't want your first one to be cold."

"About that, I've read my schedule and I must admit I am not entirely sure what you are here to do." Charles said tentatively. "I think I've an idea, but I hope very much that I am wrong."

"Well, I think the whole story is in the name. What else could it be?"

"That is what I was afraid you were going to say."

She was right. What else could 'colonic irrigation' mean?

TBC…

* * *

**AN/ Yup, Lord G has signed poor ol' Carson up for some good old-fashioned holistic healing. This is not going to be pretty. **

**Keep a lookout today for my CrackFic alternative ending to 'Wading Into the Unknown' called 'Wading Through Blood'; now with 500% MORE Mrs. Butte (as portrayed by Imelda Staunton). I'll let the first installment speak for itself. It is my goal to not let this side project interfere with the main story. **

**FYI, 'Wading Through Blood' will be an 'M' story, but not for sexy 'M'ness, but for gory 'M'ness.  
**


	45. Chapter 45

As the large Scottish woman removed the topmost towel and began to prepare her implements, Charles observed her, remaining seated firmly on the bed. She was tall, and not just for a woman. She was nearly as tall as himself, Charles estimated. She was also a meaty woman, solidly built. She looked to be in her thirties. She wore a white, high-collared blouse and a long grey skirt. Her hair was tied back severely from her face in a tight bun. The overall impression of her carriage was one of severity, but her face looked incongruously jovial.

"I think this might be another matter I need to discuss with Dr. Ransom." Charles suggested, motioning towards her cart.

"You certainly will be discussing it, Mr. Carson, but it will be in the past tense. I have my instructions and this is happening." Her brogue was thicker and less refined than Elsie's. Some of her words were almost unintelligible. "Now, if you would please remove your pants and proceed into the water closet, we can begin."

"I am very sorry, Miss, but you've just listed three things I am decidedly _not _doing." Charles said stubbornly but politely. Elsie would have recognized the tone and quickly dismissed it.

"There is no reason to be shy, man. I'm a professional. I'm not interested in the front. All my business is in the back." She was trying to help ease his obvious tension with a touch of humor. Her attempt backfired. Charles went from stubborn to scandalized. He shook his head vigorously but his repulsion rendered him mute.

"Please, Mr. Carson, do not make me call Lucas and Christophe." Her voice was patient, and her accommodating smile told him she was very confident of getting her way in this matter. "This will be so much easier if you can just relax."

Relaxing was another thing Charles Carson was not going to be doing anytime soon. "I am sorry, Miss…"

"I am no 'Miss'. My name is Mrs. Brooke Macduff. Most folks just call me BM." She laughed at her joke. Charles' expression did not change. "Trust me, Mr. Carson, a sense of humor is a necessity in this place, especially in my line of work. Just call me Brooke."

"I do not understand what this procedure has to do with my heart, Brooke."

"Proper elimination is an important part of our heart healthy program, Mr. Carson. Did you not read the pamphlet? I am sorry if this is all a shock to you, but this is what you signed on for."

"That is where you are mistaken. I did not sign up for anything. I was enrolled here against my will."

This made her pause. "Who enrolled you; your wife?"

"I am not married. Though I am engaged." Charles' demeanor softened at the thought of Elsie and of her letter to him. "I was sent here by my employer, Lord Grantham. I was told I was to receive an evaluation of the health of my heart."

"I see." So, he wasn't one of the rich toffs. He was just a man following orders and he was obviously very unhappy to be here. "I'm sorry, Mr. Carson, but there's been some kind of misunderstanding."

"That's what I've been saying." Though it was difficult, Charles tried not to blame Lord Grantham for this predicament. Instead, he managed to focus much of his frustration on Mr. Barrow and Mrs. Butte. At least Lord Grantham had meant well, even if he had not done his due diligence when researching this facility.

"Most of our clients know all about the program before they start. People come here to cleanse their bodies and promote heart health, but we do not usually bring in clients whose health has not already been reviewed by their personal physician. I shouldn't think it would be very wise for someone with potential heart problems to undergo this program."

"What exactly does this program entail?" Though Charles was not sure he wanted to know.

"It's a diet and exercise regimen designed to optimize your body's natural processes. There are two vegetarian meals, three irrigations and four sessions of calisthenics each day. You'll get a solid ten hours of sleep every day."

"Ten hours? How is that possible?" Charles had not slept more than seven hours at one time since his last illness.

"It's on the schedule. Every other day, you'll meet with one of the doctors for what they call a 'wire session'. " Charles looked at his schedule in terror, flipping to the second page. "Don't worry, it's not as bad as it sounds. It will be listed as a 'cardioscope session' on your schedule. They hook you up to a bunch of sensors and wires and track your heart's rhythms. It's probably the thing that comes closest to assessing your heart that we offer."

"And what is this?" Charles pointed to a session he for which he was scheduled tomorrow. "Heat bath?"

"On the days you don't meet with the doctors, you'll have a session in the 'hot box'. You basically sit on a stool surrounded by heat lamps on all sides. Makes one sweat something awful."

"That sounds dreadful."

"It's not so bad, but it's not something I'd recommend. Perhaps you can talk the doctor out of that until they've assessed your health." Brooke began to spread the towel back over the cart.

"Have I earned a reprieve, then?" Charles asked hopefully.

"You're a working stiff like me, Mr. Carson, and yours seems to be a unique situation. I'll let you have today off."

"Bless you."

"At least do me a favor and eat this yogurt." Brooke handed Charles a tub of yogurt and a spoon.

"Is that part of the procedure? Eating yogurt?" Charles looked slightly less tense as he began to eat. He was rather hungry and apparently he wouldn't be eating for several more hours.

"It will help stabilize the flora of your intestines. Usually you only _eat_ half of it. One guess what we do with the other half." She laughed as he paused mid bite. "You are really going to need to work on your sense of humor, Mr. Carson, or you won't survive today."

Smiling, Charles nodded self-deprecatingly. "If you don't mind my asking, Brooke, what does Mr. Macduff think of your profession?"

"He works here too; as a masseuse, and he is very proud of me. I'm the best there is in colonic irrigation. There's clients here that would swear just the sound of my voice makes them want to shit themselves."

Surprised by her candor, Charles could not help laughing. "That's quite something."

Brooke was glad to see the poor dear loosening up. "If I can offer some advice, Mr. Carson, if you are planning to fight the doctors on so many points of your treatment, you really shouldn't bother resisting the uniform. The shorts aren't an unseemly length, they're almost to your knees, and it's very practical clothing for the calisthenics."

"Thank you, that sounds like very sound advice." Charles said politely, still unsure if he would follow it. "My schedule says I'm not due anywhere for two more hours. Is there a library or somewhere I could write a letter?"

"No, there's no library. They've given you a light day for your first day. Usually, you'd be off to exercise now. If you've free time, I suggest going to the pool. It's very nice this time of year. You might even catch a little sunshine."

"That actually does sound nice."

"Do you have swim trunks? I can get you some if you need them."

"I have brought my own bathing costume." The pacing instructions letter Charles had received had recommended that he bring a bathing costume. He was almost glad to have occasion to wear it again. It reminded him of happier times, with Elsie. "Is there no hope of a desk or some stationary?"

"I don't think many folk write letters from here. It's discouraged. You're meant to focus on yourself while you're here."

"Then there's no post?"

"Not usually. I'll leave you now, Mr. Carson. Perhaps I will see you tomorrow." Brooke rolled her cart towards the door.

"Please do not take it personally, Brooke, when I say I hope not." Charles smiled charmingly at her as she left.

-00-

James collected the evening post from the tray by the front door. He was acting butler now. All the house mail would pass through his hands. He flipped quickly through the few pieces of mail and stopped when he found an envelope addressed to Mrs. Hughes. It looked like Mr. Carson's hand. It was postmarked with today's date. It must have been posted first thing this morning to reach Downton already.

James ran his finger along the edge of the envelope. He had not expected to have to choose his loyalties so soon.

He delivered two letters to Mr. Branson and then headed downstairs with the rest of the house mail. Mrs. Hughes' letter was concealed in his pocket.

In the servant's hall, Ivy squealed to receive her letter from Mr. Slade. Mrs. Hughes was nowhere to be seen. James headed towards the butler's pantry and was surprised to find Mrs. Hughes here, sitting listlessly at Mr. Carson's desk. She started as he entered. "Oh, I am very sorry, Mr. Kent. I was only going over some figures Mr. Carson asked me about in London." She closed the ledger in front of her guiltily and put it back on the shelf behind her. James had never seen her so distracted.

She was almost out of the office before James made up his mind. "Mrs. Hughes, this came for you in the evening post."

Her confusion changed to elation the second she saw the address on the envelope. He had such a distinctive way of writing her name. Now she saw the little extra flourishes he added just for her. Now she saw the subtle signs of his decades long affection for her.

"Thank you, Mr. Kent." She hurried to her sitting room without another glance at the smiling young man.

TBC…

* * *

**AN/ We'll get Charles' letter tomorrow and more adventures at the clinic. Don't worry, this is not about to become like Bates in prison, but I do want to explore the clinic a little more. Do we want to see any more of Brooke? Drop me a line and let me know. Thank you for reading;)**


	46. Chapter 46

**AN/ You all convinced me that being apart from Elsie was torture enough, so Charles won't have it too bad in the clinic. You guys are making me go soft;)**

* * *

_Mrs. Hughes,_

_I was sure some household matters would slip my mind this morning, so I've decided to post them to you instead. I know you are not likely to forget the matters we discussed, but they are very important to me and I hope they are never far from your mind. They are never far from mine._

_Your planned improvements to the garden party sound very promising. I am looking forward to The Event more than I can say. My favorite part of any event is when it is done and all the guests are gone and you and I can congratulate each other on a job well done. I am very much looking forward to congratulating you._

_I am most anxious to be home. London's charms are nothing compared to the beauty of Downton, though the time away always makes me appreciate it more. I must content myself with remembering what Downton looks like during a slow Yorkshire sunrise with warm colors glowing all around. I think I miss Downton most in the morning, until I reach noon when I think I must miss Downton most at noon. Or is it at tea or at dinner? The fact is, every second of the day I miss Downton even more. I hope I will not have to be away for long. As ever, when I am away, I think of nothing but the day when I can return to Downton._

_I trust you to look after my household in my absence. It is yours to care for. Indeed, I wonder if it was ever mine. There is no one else to whom I would entrust my household._

_Your faithful friend, C. Carson_

-00-

Elsie had teased him when he suggested they should use code in their correspondence. She had sensibly suggested that they simply avoid putting anything potentially damning into writing. Clearly he could not resist. She reread the letter laughing. As usual, Charles was about as subtle as a tuba in a string quartet. Anyone trying to crack this code would not find it very difficult. Clearly, the 'household matters' meant his love for her, 'the garden party' was their impending marriage, the 'household' was his heart and 'Downton' was Elsie herself.

Elsie blushed to think what he meant by 'congratulating each other,' but she knew she was looking forward to it as well. In fact, she wanted to congratulate him until she could not congratulate anymore.

Eventually, Elsie refolded the letter and secreted it in her dress, against her heart. Thus fortified, she emerged reinvigorated from her office to finish out the day.

-00-

It was nine o'clock at night and Charles Carson was in bed. His stomach growled and told him that it was dinner time, not bedtime. Having been informed that a pillow was not conducive to optimal breathing during slumber, Charles had been forced to fashion his own pillow from his rolled up suit pants.

His day had been very full. He'd spent some time at the pool before meeting with the doctors. He had successfully negotiated a pardon from the hot box, calisthenics and colonic irrigation for at least three days while they evaluated his health. He had navigated his first 'wire session' without incident, watching the needles scratch out patterns on their roll of paper that were indecipherable to him, but seemed very interesting to the doctors.

Despite his temporary reprieve from her procedure, Brooke had dropped by before dinner to check in with him. They'd chatted a little more while enjoying some yogurt. It had comforted him to hear her strong Scottish brogue even though it was coarser than Elsie's beautiful accent. Charles had even grudgingly admitted to Brooke that the shorts were more comfortable than he had expected. It did help that everyone else was wearing the same thing.

Laying in his tiny bed, Charles reflected that things were very orderly here. They had their own set of rules which were well stated and strictly enforced. It was the kind of place in which Carson should be flourishing, but he was too old to change his habits now. For one thing, he had been responsible for his own bowel movements for over sixty-four years and that was not about to change if he had anything to say about it. It was ironic then, that Brooke was the only friend he had yet made. The doctors and most of the staff were too busy and the other patients were too posh and too self-absorbed for him to have struck up any conversation.

Perhaps it was just difficult to talk to people eye to eye when you knew that they were having their colons washed out three times a day. Perhaps Brooke was right, scatological humor was his best hope of survival. But Carson the butler was too proper to consider that. His mind pictured himself back on the stage bantering with Grigg between songs.

"Ahoy, Charlie, it's good to see you."

"And you, Charlie!"

"How are you today, Charlie?"

"Not so good, Charlie."

"I'm sorry to hear that, Charlie. What's the problem?"

"Well, Charlie, I've just had a yogurt enema and I cannot tell if I am cumming or going."

_Good God, where did that come from?_ Charles had just scandalized himself, but he could not help but laugh as he blushed alone in the dark. Maybe he'd work up the courage to try his material on Brooke's husband, Joshua, whom he was to meet tomorrow. It was far too rude to actually say in the presence of a woman, but even Carson had to admit; it was kind of funny.

Unable to fall directly to sleep when his body told him he still had three hours of work to do, Charles thought of Elsie and of his next letter to her. In his mind he wrote flowing and poetic epistles of his undying love. He would hint at all the congratulations that would flow after the garden party. But then reality brought him up short. He had brought _some_ stationary, but he had only one ink reservoir for his pen. He knew from years of experience that would give him two, maybe three pages of writing. If he was to be here two weeks, each letter would have to be as efficient as a telegram. And then there was the challenge of posting said letters, but perhaps Brooke could help him with that. He drifted off to sleep writing ridiculous telegram-style letters.

_Miss you. STOP. Swam today. STOP. Didn't give a shit. STOP._

-00-

It was well past one in the morning and Thomas was still hours away from sleep. How could everything have gone so wrong so quickly? Had he been unreasonable? No. Had he been condescending? Maybe a little. But had he really done anything to anger the staff? No.

Then why were they punishing him? There was not one single thing he could point to that had caused such an awful day. They could not know about his role in sending Carson away, but they seemed to feel that helping Thomas was an act of disloyalty to Mr. Carson. By the end of the day, Thomas understood that the staff were going to do only exactly what he asked of them. They were out to prove a point. They were certainly not going to go out of their way to help him.

Even Mrs. Butte had been surly to him this morning, but things had really begun to unravel just after servant's breakfast. While serving upstairs, Thomas had rung down for a refill of tomato juice and no one had answered. Lady Rose had taken it in stride and not pressed the point, but Lord Grantham had noticed and had given Thomas a warning look.

"If you feel yourself getting overwhelmed, Barrow, it is best to ask for help before you need it." Lord Grantham had told him sagely before leaving the dining room.

_What did that even mean? Who is going to help me?_ Thomas wondered now, so many hours removed from the moment.

Thomas had hurried downstairs to find out why his bell had gone unanswered. "We were all out saying goodbye to Mr. Carson, Mr. Barrow. I guess no one heard the bell." Mrs. Patmore shrugged. "I suppose Lady Rose survived."

_Standards were not so lax when Mr. Carson was in charge, less than two hours ago. Under Mr. Carson's rule, Lady Rose not receiving her tomato juice would have been one of the signs of the ending of days._ Thomas thought bitterly.

Thomas had committed another faux pas at luncheon. Lady Mary had been out visiting a friend all morning. She came bustling through the door exactly on time and was miffed when luncheon was served ten minutes late. Thomas had been holding the meal for her! He had noticed that she often arrived late for lunch after she went visiting, so he was trying to accommodate her in a way Mr. Carson never did. But she was not grateful for the courtesy. Instead she quipped, "Honestly, Barrow, don't you know I like to make an entrance? And why must everyone suffer for my tardiness?"

"Oh, Mary, it is Barrow's first day, do go easy on him." Lady Grantham had defended him, in a backhanded way. Thomas had gritted his teeth and tried to look grateful. His first day? He'd waited at table for this family for over a decade and they were treating him like some imbecile who just came up from the kitchen. He'd served them luncheon a thousand times, with and without Mr. Carson.

Things had continued in that vein for the rest of the day. Tea had been served cold because Thomas did not inform the family early enough. A caller had been left waiting at the door for almost a full minute, due to a mix up in staff rotation. Lord Gillingham was very gracious about it, but Mary gave Barrow a scathing look as she led her guest into the parlor.

And then there had been the disastrous dinner where Thomas had mixed up the white wines and served the sherry with the soup. He had also misspelled 'soufflé' on the menus, switching the first two vowels. Lady Mary had seen her mother looking oddly at the menu and had whispered as Thomas left the room, "Yes, you're seeing it correctly." To her credit, she wasn't trying to rub Thomas' nose in his error. Mary had more important things to do where Barrow was concerned.

Lady Grantham had spoken to him about it after dinner. "If you are unsure, Mr. Barrow, you should ask Mrs. Patmore to check the menus for proper spelling before you write them all."

"Thank you, My Lady. I shall do that in future." Barrow had said through more gritted teeth.

Interspersed with all these minor disasters, Thomas' day was interrupted by an endless parade of vendors and tradesmen. Mr. Toby had been by twice to discuss arrangements for the installation of the new boiler. How was a man to get anything done with these constant interruptions? After each interruption, it took Thomas precious seconds to get back up to normal speed after stopping and speaking to anyone. In retrospect, Mr. Carson must be capable of holding five simultaneous conversations, as Thomas had never seen him miss a beat when dealing with vendors while also instructing the staff. Thomas grudgingly recognized that he owed Mr. Carson more respect than he had ever realized.

With all the chaos around Grantham House, Thomas did find one thing to be grateful for. Thomas was thankful that the Dowager was already returned to Yorkshire. He was not sure he could have faced the observant and acerbic elder Countess.

TBC…

* * *

**AN/ Thank you, to those who mentioned my regularity. Now you know my secret... Fiber;)**

**FYI, the clinic is loosely based on the Battle Creek Sanitarium as fictionalized in the book and movie 'The Road to Wellville'. It is a deeply flawed film, but the way people readily accept torture in the name of health and call it science is a concept that has always intrigued me. The practices in that clinic were based on a combination of food science, health science and the spiritual beliefs of the Seventh Day Adventists. **

**The yogurt enemas were a real thing, as was the heat box, the espousal of a primarily vegetarian diet, only two meals a day and extensive calisthenics. None of these are bad things in their own right (maybe the heat box) but taken as a whole and forced on someone like Carson, it does amount to torture. One other thing Kellogg championed was suppression of sexual impulses. I'm not going there. I've mixed this with some updated instrumentation, but am not going too much into detail there because my research is spotty. **

**If I've learned anything from the 'Bates in Jail' snooze fest storyline, it's 'Don't overstay your welcome.' We'll spend a limited time in the clinic with Charles. Then the story will be moving on very quickly, have no fear.  
**

**As always, thank you for reading and for reviewing. I am too busy to reply to reviews at the moment, but I cannot tell you how much they mean to me.**


	47. Chapter 47

The next morning, Brooke and Charles were enjoying their ten o'clock yogurt break, both lounging on his bed. She was disgusting and regaling him with stories of her profession. She told him about carrying a large suitcase with all her paraphernalia on the underground to visit clients who were too important to come to the clinic.

"Of course, I am sworn to secrecy," she confided, "but I've serviced a royal or two."

Charles raised his eye brows in appreciation of this distinction.

"Joshua likes to brag that his wife is the only commoner who ever got His Highness to give a shit."

Laughing opening, though still reluctantly, Charles observed, "You really do have an endless supply of work related humor, don't you?"

"In my experience, there are two things there will never be a shortage of; laughter and shit."

"Though your experience is singular."

"Is it? I think most people deal with the same stupid shit every day of their lives. I just deal with literal shit."

"You may have a point." Charles conceded. "When am I to meet Joshua, by the way?"

"He'll come here after his morning appointment is done. He is trying to make space for you in his diary."

"I am not sure I am any more comfortable with a massage than I am with a… with what you administer." Carson admitted.

Brooke considered him for a moment. "You aren't used to being touched, are you?"

This question caught him off guard. No. He wasn't used to being touched. He wasn't used to being vulnerable. And he was not used to such personal questions. His instinct was to be offended and respond that it was none of her business, but she had asked with such sympathy, as though he was to be pitied. "No. A butler must maintain a professional demeanor with everyone in the household at all times. Physical contact is considered inappropriate."

"With anyone? But you are engaged to be married, are you not? How did that come about?" She wondered. "I should think it would make courting much more difficult if you could not even touch the person."

"Despite my best efforts to the contrary, I have managed to win myself a fine Scottish lass."

"I knew you had discerning taste, Mr. Carson." Brooke teased. "And when it comes to contact, is she the exception to the rule?"

"She is certainly exceptional." Charles smiled enigmatically.

Brooke noticed how his face lit up when he spoke about his fiancé. "So she came in and changed your life?"

"She did."

"What is her name?"

"Elise Hughes." He drew out her name in his lovely Northern accent that turned the sibilants into a warm buzz.

"And when did she come to Downton?"

"The first of September, nineteen oh one."

"But that was almost twenty-two years ago" Brooke was incredulous. "How long have you been engaged?"

"Two days." Charles smiled stupidly as he remembered the moment he had swept a tearful and speechless Elsie into his arms knowing that she had just agreed to marry him.

"And when will you be married?"

"As soon as I can get out of here."

"Not in a hurry at all, are you man?" Brook laughed at his obvious frustration and eagerness. "You remind me of my Da' when he talks about me Mam. How his eyes shine when he speaks of her, even when she is just in the next room. They were childhood sweethearts. Your lass is very lucky."

"Oh, I wouldn't say that." Charles said quietly, almost to himself. Then he remembered he was not alone. "I'm the lucky one, but don't tell her that; she might change her mind."

"I doubt that. And, just for the record, you can both be lucky."

Just then, a knock came at his door. "That must be Josh, no one else would ever dare to interrupt one of my sessions. Come in, love," she called.

"Is that how you always answer a knock?" Joshua asked as he entered Carson's room. He was a stout man, not so tall as his wife, but still a formidable presence. He wore the same white undershirt all the men in the clinic wore, but his position as staff was announced by the long white pants he was permitted. The thick beard on his chin was the same shocking shade of red as the unruly hair on his head. Charles had seen him in the halls the day before.

"I only answer to your knock, love." Brooke bounded up from the bed and grabbed Joshua's hand. "Josh, I'd like you to meet my new friend I was telling you about. Mr. Carson, this is my husband, Joshua Macduff."

Charles stood up with a slow dignity and shook the younger man's hand. He could not help but smile in response to the delighted grin that greeted him. "I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Macduff. Your wife has been the one bright spot in my stay here. You are a very fortunate man."

"And doesn't she just remind me of it every chance she gets?" Joshua chortled giving his wife a teasing wink. "Call me Josh, man. My wife has practically adopted you. If I were any less handsome, I'd be jealous."

Carson did not like to make generalizations about people too quickly, but he instantly liked this genial young man. He still had trepidations about a massage, but he felt more comfortable knowing he would be in the care of a friend.

It turned out that a lull in Charles' schedule coincided with a break in Josh's appointments, so after his third calisthenics session, Charles headed to the massage rooms that were just past the pool. He was given a towel and told to shower. Charles had never experienced an indoor shower, let alone a hot shower. Sometimes in the summer, when he was a lad, the housekeeper would send all the boys out to the water tower to wash in the outflow. The water then had been bracingly cold, drawn from the bottom of the tank, but the sensation of cleanliness after the shower was something Charles always enjoyed. He never joined the roughhousing of the other boys, but washed quickly and then lay in the sunshine to dry. For those few isolated hours, he almost forgot his obligations and reconnected with his all too brief childhood.

With these happy memories in his head, Charles was looking forward to the shower, until he saw the shower room. It was a large, tile-lined room with rows of shower heads along the far wall. There were no stalls or curtains, though there were a few low walls separating the shower area from the drier changing area. Several of the showers were in use when Charles arrived. He headed discreetly to the shower head in the corner of the room, as far as possible from a small group of chatting and laughing gentlemen.

Undressing quickly, Charles turned on the water. It started out cold, but soon heated up. Charles washed quickly and then allowed himself to enjoy the steaming water as it broke against his head and flowed warmly to his feet. Just as he was truly beginning to enjoy the warm deluge, Carson heard a voice, quite close by. "I say, don't I know you?"

Looking back over his shoulder, Charles blanched when he saw Lord Malmesbury, a good friend of Lord Grantham's. Now Charles understood the source for the recommendation of the clinic. The lord had his towel wrapped around his middle, but Charles was still bare naked. He turned off the water quickly and grabbed his towel, covering himself modestly as he turned.

"Yes, sir. I believe we have met. I am Charles Carson, butler to Lord Grantham."

"Of course you are. I didn't recognize you out of uniform." Lord Malmesbury said with no hint of irony in his voice. Having a conversation with a near naked man while equally unclad did not seem to phase the Earl at all. Charles knew Lord Malmesbury and Lord Grantham had been classmates at Eton. He had heard stories of the large communal showers at the posh boarding school.

"Is Lord Grantham here?" Lord Malmesbury looked around as though expecting Robert to jump out from the behind the tiny wall.

"No, he sent me here."

"To research the place? He could not just take my word for it?"

"I think it is meant to be a treat for me. It has been years since I took any appreciable time off and he insisted." It was more or less true. "Though, I shall be making a full report to him, which may move him to attend himself."

"Well, I hope you are enjoying your vacation and will return a favorable report." Though he was too well bred to be ungracious, Lord Malmesbury looked uncomfortable with the idea of a servant being a client in equal standing as himself at a facility he had thought of as exclusive.

Though he was used to dealing with peers, something about Lord Malmesbury's demeanor combined with the strange setting to put Carson's teeth on edge. Though they were not equals in status beyond these walls, they were both clients here. It was not necessary for Lord Malmesbury to look at Carson like a beggar at a feast.

Trying to think of a way to extract himself from this conversation, Carson remembered a snide comment Lord Grantham had once made about Lord Malmesbury when both Earls had been up late drinking and playing cards. After a long night of losing at the card table, an embittered and inebriated Lord Grantham had referred to Lord Malmesbury as the Earl of Gerkin, a comment accompanied by the knowing flexing of his pinky. A diabolical thought occurred to Carson, which was rare enough. Rarer still was the fact that he followed through on the thought.

"I hope you and your family are well, My Lord." Charles smiled conversationally as he nonchalantly brought his towel up to dry his hair with both hands, exposing himself completely. Though he did not make a study of the subject, Charles had learned at a young age that he was more than adequately endowed.

Charles' ploy was immediately rewarded by a small choking noise from Lord Malmesbury who managed to answer, "Reasonably well, I thank you." His grip on his towel seemed to tighten. The discomfited Earl's eyes began to dart around the room, avoiding Charles completely, as if looking for a fire exit.

Charles was saved from any further conversation with Malmesbury by Josh sticking his head in at a door and calling, "Mr. Carson? If you are ready, could you please come through?"

"It was a pleasure to see you, Lord Malmesbury. His Lordship will be pleased to hear you are well." Charles dismissed himself politely as he wrapped the towel back around his middle and followed Josh through to the hall that led to several smaller rooms with a rather smug smile on his face.

"What was that about?" Josh asked as Charles allowed himself an audible chuckle.

"I was just thinking how much we rely on clothing and titles to define us. It is rather a silly system, is it not?" Charles was astonished to hear himself utter this blasphemous notion aloud.

"You mean, it's difficult to take a lord as seriously after you've seen him as God made him? Welcome to my world, man." Josh laughed. "Speaking of which, lie down here and we'll get started."

Still laughing, Charles lay down. He still felt vulnerable lying on the table covered only by a towel across his lap, but somehow, his discomfort was overshadowed by the absurdity of the whole situation.

Josh started to massage Charles' neck and shoulders in a deliberate and professional manner. "I hear you caused a bit of a stir this morning."

"I woke up early and took a walk." Charles said innocently.

"They were not too thrilled to see you walk in the front door at six in the morning."

"Am I not permitted to leave the clinic? I was not aware that I was a prisoner. I needed to post a letter. I was back in time for my first appointment." Charles said defensively.

"How did you even get out?"

"Eustace let me out."

"Who is Eustace?"

"The night custodian. Very nice man. Did you know he has _six_ children?"

Josh laughed as his hands moved from Charles' shoulder to his arm. "I did not know he was married. He and I have both worked here over three years and I never even knew his first name. It's funny the things you never think to ask when you see someone everyday."

"Do you and Brooke have children? She hasn't mentioned." Carson asked.

Josh's hands paused briefly. "The flu hit our family hard. Because of her illness, Brooke cannot have children, but we took in my sister's boy when she died during the same outbreak. He's a handful sometimes, but we can't give up on him. He's family after all. How can you give up on family?"

Charles felt a tinge of guilt at this thought. He'd always considered the downstairs staff a family. That made he and Elsie parents to all the maids, hall boys and footmen. _And even under butlers_, Charles thought bitterly. The truth was, Carson had been responsible for Thomas for almost twelve years. Even if Thomas had proved unworthy of his faith, was Carson justified in destroying the man? Unwilling to think of anything so stressful at the moment, Charles put those thoughts aside.

"Josh, I have a joke I would like to run by you." Charles began.

TBC…

* * *

**AN/ That was just pure silly fluff, but I hope you found it enjoyable. As Mrs. Dickens713 noted in review, Charles' perspective is slowly changing. Letting himself love Elsie has opened him up to seeing life and its priorities very differently. He is still as loyal to the Crawleys as ever, but it is more because he loves them than because of their status or titles. **

**We'll check in with the outside world in the next chapter and leave Charles to his spa treatments. **


	48. Chapter 48

"Hello, James." Lady Mary said cheerfully as she descended from the car. Anna came hurrying around from the passenger side. "Or do we call you Mr. Kent now that you are acting butler?"

"Whatever Your Ladyship chooses." James said with just the right amount of deference.

"What has Mrs. Hughes been calling you since you returned?"

"She has been calling me Mr. Kent," James replied, puffing out his chest proudly.

"Then that must be proper." Lady Mary said decisively. "Mr. Kent, would you please ask Mrs. Hughes to come visit me at her earliest convenience?"

"Certainly, milady." He had an extra spring in his step as he bounded up the stairs to close the great door behind her.

Mary smiled to Anna as she climbed the main stairs and Anna headed to the servant's stairs. Mrs. Hughes was already making huge strides towards winning James over. Predictably, the secret was simply to feed his hungry ego.

Elsie forced herself to wait ten excruciating minutes before heading upstairs. She did not want her eagerness to be visible to the staff. She found Lady Mary sitting prettily at her dressing table while Anna unpacked Mary's overnight bag.

"I hope your trip was a pleasant one, My Lady." Elsie said, more calmly than she felt.

"I don't know that I would ever call a rail trip pleasant, Mrs. Hughes, but it was tolerable and without incident." Mary sighed, "I am glad to be home."

Mrs. Hughes tried not to roll her eyes at the young lady. Couldn't she just ever say, "Yes, Mrs. Hughes, the trip was lovely."? She was becoming more and more like the Dowager Countess with every passing year. But then Elsie reminded herself of the beautiful ring she wore on the chain around her neck and the promise of support it represented from this formidable, if petulant, young woman.

"And we are glad to have you home, My Lady. What news from London?"

"I stopped by the clinic this morning to see Carson before coming down."

Elsie controlled her excitement, though there was no need to dissemble in front of Lady Mary or Anna. Still, she knew that Charles would want her to behave in a dignified manner. "And how did you find him?"

"He is enduring. In fact, he was better than I had expected. He looks much better than Barrow does, to tell the truth." Mary and Anna exchanged knowing looks. "Carson has made some friends there, but he will not be happy until he is with you."

Elsie was disappointed. She had hoped for a note from him at least. "The feeling is mutual. But wishing for something will not make it happen. Did you come here for a reason, My Lady?"

"Yes. But before we talk business, I have a letter for you from Carson. He wrote it during my visit this morning." Lady Mary produced an envelope from her hand bag. Elsie could not hide her excitement as she snatched it greedily from Mary's hand. Mary raised her eyebrows and pulled back her hand as if afraid Elsie might accidentally tear her arm off.

"I beg your pardon, My Lady." Elsie apologized, composing herself.

"It is understandable, Mrs. Hughes."

Elsie looked down at the letter. He had held this letter only this morning, she thought. _Stop acting like a love sick parlor maid, Elsie Hughes_, she chastised herself as she forced herself to calmly put the letter into her pocket.

"I think you should read it now, Mrs. Hughes. Perhaps Mr. Carson has sent some note about our plans for Mr. Barrow." Lady Mary said kindly. "Why don't you sit on the bed and read it? Anna and I need to look over my dresses for next week. If we are deep enough in the wardrobe, it should offer you some privacy." Mary had sat quietly in the clinic's visiting room this morning as Carson had written his letter. She had felt like an intruder watching her butler composing his thoughts to his love. If the words on those pages reflected any fraction of the love evidenced on his face as he wrote it, Elsie would need a good deal of privacy while reading it.

"Thank you, My Lady. Thank you." Elsie rushed to sit on the far side of the bed, her back to Anna and Mary who began quietly arranging dresses in the wardrobe.

-00-

_'My dearest love, how wonderful it is to be able to write to you without the barrier of innuendo. Lady Mary has promised to deliver this directly into your hands, safe from prying and curious eyes. But before I get carried away expressing my admiration and longing for you, I must address some distasteful business. I know we agreed to go after Barrow with a ruthlessness that he will hopefully not expect, but I find my mind is uneasy with this course of action._

_'You will think me sentimental when I tell you that I have always considered the staff a family. Like parents, you and I have influenced every young person who has passed through our house. I like to think we have had an overall positive effect, though that is owing more to you than to me. Through the years, we have had children who out grew us, such as Gwen and Alfred, or who disappointed us, such as Ethel and Mr. Lang. We have had our favorites, such as Anna and Daisy, and we have had those who were harder to cherish, like O'Brien and Thomas. But they were all children of our house. _

_'The reality of family is that parents must accept their share of responsibility for their children. I cannot say how I have failed Thomas, but he has been under my care for over twelve years. How can I claim I have no investment in who he has become? I know I have expressed my frustrations with the lad, but when I think about coldy and calculatingly destroying someone who has been a part of our lives for so many years, my resolve weakens._

_'I have always striven to be fair in my dealings with all of our 'children'. Yes, the standards have been high and we have asked much of them, but we have been rewarded more often than we have been disappointed. Despite his threats, I find that I am not ready to give up on Thomas. Please do not start any plan in motion until I have had the chance to speak to him once more. I am not naive. I recognize that we are on the brink of war and diplomacy will most likely fail, but my conscience dictates that I must make one more attempt to broker peace.' _

As Elsie turned to the next page, she shook her head. She could have predicted Charles would get cold feet if he had too much time to reconsider their proposed course of action. Ruthless was not a word that described her man, nor would she want it to be. He could try his diplomacy, but when that failed, Elsie would be prepared to wage war.

_'But let us put such hateful thoughts aside. There is so much love in my heart, there is no room for hate. You may expect another letter from me soon. It was posted this morning and is about as opaque as crystal. I know it is unwise for me to send such missives where my analogies are as obvious as my affection for you, but I cannot stop myself. I hope at least that they help to fill the time that we are apart and that they make you smile. _

_'But now, I have no boundaries to restrain my words. Ironically, with the whole of the English language available to me, I find it inadequate to express the depth of my feelings. They have called French the language of love and Latin is the base of all the Romance languages, but I suspect they too would fall short in providing the words for what I wish to say to you. What I want to communicate can only be spoken by two hearts in the delicious stillness between kisses. It can only be conveyed through the warmth and need of an embrace. I long to speak to you again in that language. I long to express my love in the tongue unique to our two souls when they are one; inseparable and insatiable. _

_'How can I put into a letter the same sentiments that I shared with you as we danced in our park? How can the finite pages of this letter contain the infinite fire that is my love for you?_

_'The greatest poets of the world could not name or describe the joy you have brought into my life, and yet, I, a mere butler, must attempt it. Every morning without you, I wake to a life that is empty and cold until I recall that you love me. I love you, Elsie Hughes, and soon the world shall know. Shortly, we shall be reunited and married. We will walk in the light of day and lay in the dark of night as husband and wife. Until that joyous day, never doubt that I love you. Never doubt that I would deny everything in my life for you. Never doubt that you are the most wonderful thing that has ever happened to this silly and undeserving fool. _

_'I must close. Lady Mary looks embarrassed and impatient. She must leave now to catch her train. _

_'Once more, because I am free to say so, I love you. I shall hold my breath until we meet again and I can be ever yours, Charles.'_

Elsie did not realize she had been crying until she felt Anna's arm around her shoulder and felt the young lady gently wipe away the tears on Elsie's cheeks with a soft cotton handkerchief. Smiling in gratitude, Elsie embraced Anna. Anna held her, happy to finally have the opportunity to return a small fraction of the love and support she had received from this amazing woman.

Lady Mary stood awkwardly in the corner of her own room, trying to be as invisible as a servant. She briefly considered leaving, but that would require her to cross the whole room, which would disturb the two women. She wondered briefly if she should just shut herself into the wardrobe until they saw fit to call her out of it.

But Mary was not left in discomfort for very long. Less than a minute passed before Mrs. Hughes straightened her back and stood up from the bed. Charles' resolve to punish Thomas may have weakened, but Elsie's had strengthened.

"Right." Mrs. Hughes said briskly. "Let's get down to business."

TBC…

* * *

**AN/ I swear to you, they will be reunited very soon. **


	49. Chapter 49

Lady Mary was impressed by the housekeeper's ability to seemingly flip a switch and call upon her familiar professional focus. Following Mrs. Hughes' lead, Mary began her update in a calm and pragmatic fashion.

"I have Miss Baxter's reference from London. Unfortunately, the woman she worked for is dead and the house has been sold. Perhaps you can use your contacts to dig deeper. Here is the name."

Elsie took the slip of paper from Mary. "'Gretchen Bruesterin of Belgravia?' I know that name. When I arrived back at Downton, I pulled Mr. Barrow's references from Mr. Carson's employment file. That was the household in which he worked before coming to Downton."

"So it is possible they worked together twelve years ago, but it doesn't explain why Thomas brought her to Downton." Anna pointed out. "It doesn't seem like Thomas to keep in touch with someone for that long only to do them a favor."

"No, it does not." Mary agreed. "I think there is something interesting to be discovered there."

"I shall see what I can uncover." Mrs. Hughes promised.

"There is another matter to discuss. When I spoke to Carson this morning, he was trying to back away from our plan to attack Thomas."

"He mentioned his misgivings in his letter."

"He does not have the stomach for the tactics I suggested. He kept talking about the downstairs as a family and Thomas as a prodigal son."

"Well, I'll not be killing a fatted calf for him, if that's the plan." Mrs. Hughes said with conviction.

"Nor I, but Carson wants to talk to Thomas once more before we launch our assault."

"I should have anticipated this. Mr. Carson was rather hot under the collar when he first talked about burying Thomas, but that was fresh from his confrontation. Mr. Carson is not capable of the sustained anger that is required in this case."

"Then it will fall to us to set the plan and follow through." Mary nodded, including Anna in her gesture.

"It will fall to you and I, My Lady." Mrs. Hughes corrected her. "Anna, you are a strong woman, but you do not have the stomach for this either. You are too kind and too forgiving."

Anna tried to protest, but Mrs. Hughes took her hand and led her to the door of Lady Mary's room. "We would not want you any other way, my dear. Let Lady Mary and I handle this. The less you know, the better."

Nodding with obvious relief, Anna excused herself. "I'll check in with you after tea, My Lady."

"Thank you, Anna." Lady Mary called after her. When the door had closed, she turned to Mrs. Hughes. "What are you thinking, Mrs. Hughes?"

"We must let Mr. Carson speak to Mr. Barrow in an attempt to reconcile."

"There seems little hope of that."

"There is _no_ hope, My Lady, but Mr. Carson's conscious will demand it."

"Then we must have a plan in place to act quickly after Carson tips our hand."

"Yes." Mrs. Hughes agreed. "If I may be blunt, My Lady, this war only needs to be waged in order to protect your family name. Mr. Barrow's threats are empty where Mr. Carson and I are concerned. We shall be married regardless of what Mr. Barrow attempts and we have the means to retire."

"The two of you have discussed this?"

"Yes. And if our walking away would solve this problem, we would have already done so."

"And you have enough money saved up between you?"

"We will be fine. Our lot knows how to save money, My Lady. Your lot knows how to spend it."

Mary smiled sadly at this. She had never understood the full scope of the estate until she'd begun to take a more active role in its stewardship. "It is what is expected of us. Our money must be rolled back into the estate." Mary knew that her two heads of household probably had more cash in the bank than the Crawley family.

"You speak of a war only for the sake of the family name, Mrs. Hughes, but I am afraid the family name and the family credit are one and the same. If Barrow destroys one, he destroys the other. Our only hope of keeping Downton intact is to be ruthless with our ambitious under butler."

"Agreed, but we need to acknowledge exactly what is at stake. It is possible that our solution could make matters worse. If you dismissed Mr. Barrow now, could the family weather the notoriety he might bring upon you?"

"We would have no choice but to weather it, but we would have to scale back our plans for the estate. Likely, our mortgage would be called in and we'd have to sell off a good deal of the best land to cover the cost. Downton Abbey would become a head with no body. The staff would have to be reduced." Mary's shoulders sagged with the burden of being responsible for so many. "I don't see how it could get worse than that."

"Don't you?"

"We may be giving Barrow more ammunition if we fail, but it is worth the risk. I don't want to consider what such notoriety would do to Papa or Grandmama. If we can spare them that, it would be worth it to me." Mary looked at Mrs. Hughes. "I understand if it is not worth it to you and to Mr. Carson."

"I think you know full well that Mr. Carson could never just abandon your family and neither of us could turn our back on the staff. We will do what we can, but my first loyalty is to Mr. Carson."

"I understand. Thank you for your honesty. I have a plan that I think may work, but the morality of it is questionable." Mary said tentatively.

"Which is why we will not be discussing it with Anna or Mr. Carson." Mrs. Hughes reminded Lady Mary.

"And what about your conscious, Mrs. Hughes? Thomas is your prodigal son much as he is Carson's."

"I will not enjoy what we must do, My Lady, but I will not shy away from it. Nor will I pity Thomas when it is done. He has brought this on himself."

"I quite agree. Now, my plan is simple, but I am not entirely sure how to bring it about."

-00-

Mrs. Hughes was surprised to find Anna waiting in her sitting room after leaving Lady Mary.

"May I help you, Anna?"

"I was hoping I might help you." Anna smiled kindly. "I may not have the personality needed to properly punish Thomas, but I think I've proven myself to be very useful in other ways."

"Of course you are, my girl, I didn't mean to imply otherwise. Do you have anything specific in mind?"

"I want to follow up the lead on Miss Baxter. I'll already be in London, so it will be easier for me than for you. I'm supposed to befriend her, maybe I can get some information out of her. I can be very persistent."

"That you can. It's a good idea. I still don't think there can me much to it, but anything we know that Thomas doesn't know we know gives us an advantage." When Anna did not make a move to leave, Elsie asked, "Was there something else?"

"I was just wondering if you are alright?"

"Thank you, I am as well as can be expected." Elsie sat in her chair beside her table, where she would often sit with Charles. Now Anna took his usual spot beside the door. Elsie looked at the young woman with gratitude, deep affection and a new respect. She couldn't understand how Anna had endured two long separations from Mr. Bates. Elsie had only been away from Mr. Carson for two days, she knew they would be together soon and yet she felt like the air at Downton was thicker than usual, her limbs were heavier and the colors of the world are greyer.

Anna knew what Mrs. Hughes was feeling. She knew what it was to have a letter mean the world to you. Mrs. Hughes had helped Anna through the lowest points of her life, during times she could not even turn to John. It was time to repay that friendship.

"It is hard to believe just a week ago, we were all at the beach at Brighton. It's been quite a week." Anna prompted, hoping Mrs. Hughes would feel better if she could talk to someone.

Elsie sniffed significantly at that understatement. "When I was a girl, I was skeptical that God could have created the world in one week. Based on this past week, I have been convinced anything is possible."

"I take it that Mr. Carson writes a very good letter."

"He always has." Elsie sighed fondly. "Our correspondence during the Seasons is how I first became aware of his true, sweet nature. In those early years, he would send me a letter each week, asking after the progress of the annual house cleaning, most especially the silver, but each letter had something personal for me.

"Even when he was writing about a replacement place setting that I should be expecting from London on the next train, he would include some little note about something he thought might interest me. Often, it was something about young Lady Sybil because he knew I was fond of her. Once, he gave me a fashion report on a dog."

"What? I don't even know what that means." Anna asked, astonished.

"One of the Dowager Countess' friends had a toy terrier she would carry with her everywhere. Sometimes, for special occasions, she would dress the dog. He knew how ridiculous I found this. After the friend and her dog had dined at Grantham House, his next letter was written as though it was a society column. It was funny and silly and so unlike the stoic butler that I knew. In his next letter after that, he apologized for being so unprofessional, blaming it on too much left over champagne. I sent back a letter with a mock fashion column about the bells they just bought for the dairy cows. I am afraid after that, the letters from that Season grew very silly indeed. Those letters were the real start of our friendship."

Anna laughed as Elsie's eyes sparkled with loving memories.

"I could tell when he was bored because his letters could get very sentimental and silly."

"And today's letter?"

"He must be bored out of his mind in that place. His thoughts have become rather sentimental."

"So he didn't mention the silver at all?" Anna asked, teasing.

"Not one word about it." Elsie laughed. "I shall have to chastise him for his negligence."

A knock came at the door. "Mrs. Hughes?"

"Yes, Mr. Kent?"

"There is a letter for you."

"Another letter?" Anna raised her eyebrows in astonishment.

Elsie rolled her eyes at Anna and took the letter from James. "Thank you, Mr. Kent. Has Daisy been informed that the Dowager is coming to dine with us tonight?"

"Yes, Mrs. Hughes, I told her and she had a few choice words for me."

"Daisy?" Mrs. Hughes asked, unsure if she had heard correctly.

"Yes, and her response was worthy of Mrs. Patmore."

"Her training has been thorough. The job of cook is half attitude." Mrs. Hughes joked.

"I'd say she's almost ready then." James smiled. "I'll see you at tea, Mrs. Hughes. I have to see to the wine for this evening."

"Thank you, Mr. Kent."

Anna rose from her chair. "I shall leave you with your letter, Mrs. Hughes."

"Thank you, Anna. Thank you for listening."

"Anytime, Mrs. Hughes, it is my pleasure."

After Anna left, Elsie opened her letter eagerly. She knew it would be less personal than the one she had already received today, but it was no less dear.

_'Mrs. Hughes, I know you were anxious to know about the clinic, so I wanted to set your mind at ease as soon as possible. I was pleased, upon arrival to discover a very kind note which raised my spirits considerably and made this cold clinic warmer and more bearable._

_'I still have several tests to pass before I can convince the doctors here that my heart is sound, but I hope it will not be much longer until they agree to release me. I wish they would contact my doctor at Downton who could give them every assurance that my heart is fit and true._

_'I've made one friend here and have the promise of another later today. Mrs. Brooke Macduff, one of the staff here, has taken me under her considerable wing. She has one of the most pleasant brogues I have ever heard. For some reason, I find it comforting. I will be meeting her husband today. If he is as affable as his wife, I shall have two new friends by the end of today. _

_'But enough about me. My thoughts are only of Downton and of coming home. In the hours of solitude here, I find myself remembering some of my favorite moments in my years at the Abbey. I wonder if you remember your first year. I remember it as though it were yesterday. Your brogue back then was almost as thick as Mrs. Macduff's. It took a great deal of effort for me to understand you, but the effort was well rewarded._

_'I have already used half the ink in my pen reservoir. I must close now, or my next letter will be very brief indeed. I will only add that I hope the plans for the garden party are progressing. The anticipation of that event sustains me._

_'Until then, with all my faults, I remain your devoted friend, C. Carson' _

TBC...

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**AN/ As always, your comments are most welcome and appreciated. The next update should be soon.**


	50. Chapter 50

"Why would I want to go _back _to London, my dear?" The Dowager asked incredulously. "I've only just escaped." It was after dinner and the ladies had dismissed Mr. Kent, telling him they would ring for him when he was needed. Tom had not dined at home tonight. It was no secret where he was dining, nor with whom.

"Mama wants to throw another, smaller event for Rose. She wants it to be a large family dinner." Mary could hardly admit that this event and her Grandmama's presence in London were designed to put more pressure on Thomas. The extra work and Lady Violet's scrutiny was sure to keep him even more preoccupied, which kept him too busy to scheme. Mary hoped it would buy the family precious time. "Rose's ball was such a success, I think Mama wants to keep the momentum and give our debutant one more stage on which to shine before the spotlight of the Season fades."

"You cannot tell me that Rose does not have her pick of suitors." Isobel pointed out sensibly.

"Of course she does, it's only that she does not pick very wisely."

"Why don't you give her one of your fellows?" Violet said primly.

"If only it were that easy." Mary took her grandmother's jibe in stride. Hadn't she been on the receiving end of that wit since she could walk?

"Are Edith and I invited, or is only Lady Violet you will be requiring." Mrs. Crawley asked amiably. She had made plans with Lord Merton for next Tuesday and wondered if she would have to change them.

"Of course, you are both welcome, Isobel, but Grandmama is the matriarch of the family, so her presence is more essential. No offense meant."

"None taken." Edith mumbled.

A dreary silence grew over the room. Mary spoke of the first thing that came to her mind. "I was speaking to Mr. Drew this afternoon on my rounds with Tom. Apparently, he's been saddled with some orphan girl from the continent. It's a tragic story, both parents dead and the child not even a year old." Mary's tone did not convey her true interest in the child. The parents had reportedly died in a car accident. Mary had felt an immediate connection to the story and the child.

Edith had bristled at the use of the word saddled. "He did mention it to me the other day. He came to the house looking for Tom."

"They are bringing the child all the way from Switzerland in the next week or two." Mary as good as ignored Edith's comment. "I was impressed that Mr. Drew has acquaintances on the continent."

The Dowager raised her eyebrows at this new information. "Switzerland, you say?" She gave Edith a sharp look, but there was something unbelievably interesting happening in the bottom of Edith's glass so she could not be spared to look up.

"Have you seen anything of Lord Merton since you've been returned to Yorkshire, Isobel?" Mary asked quickly, trying yet a new topic as this one seemed not to have sparked the conversation she had hoped.

Isobel blushed and shrugged noncommittally. The ladies sat in awkward silence for a few more minutes until Lady Violet began to nod off and Mary rang for Kent to call the car around.

"And I thought London was becoming tediously dull." Mary commented to Anna as she arrived in her room.

"Perhaps you missed the attentions of a certain someone?" Anna prodded.

"If only it were a certain someone rather than certain someones." Mary sighed. _Carson makes it seem so easy,_ she thought. To him, there has only ever been Mrs. Hughes. She was beyond his reach and so he had remained silent. Now that they had an understanding, he wore his heart on his sleeve as plainly as he wore a smile on his face. The thought reminded her of something she had forgotten.

"Before I dress for bed tonight, Anna, would you please ask Mrs. Hughes to join us?"

Anna hurried to fetch the housekeeper as Mary languidly removed her jewelry. Shortly, Anna returned with Mrs. Hughes.

"Anna and I shall be returning to London first thing tomorrow, Mrs. Hughes. In all our nefarious planning this morning, you and I neglected the most important plans."

Elsie knew what was most important to her, but did not want to presume. "And what would that be, My Lady?"

"Why, Carson and your nuptials, of course. I can't believe you seem to have forgotten." Mary chastised the housekeeper with a gentle sarcasm. There really was something very charming about Lady Mary, Elsie conceded. She thought she saw a hint of the Dowager's sense of humor, but she also saw the influence of a certain gentle butler.

"I must have been too busy inventorying napkins and it quite slipped my mind." Elsie teased back.

Mary found herself oddly proud that Mrs. Hughes and she could share a moment of silliness amidst all the other pressures weighing on them. At first, Mary had been afraid that Carson's devotion to Mrs. Hughes would take him away from her, but now she understood. Carson had always been devoted to Mrs. Hughes as he had always been devoted to Mary. The only thing that would change was, perhaps now Mary and Mrs. Hughes could find a way to respect and support each other. They had certainly made an excellent start towards that new relationship.

"Well, Carson does not have the distraction of linens and it is very much on his mind. He and I spoke of it this morning. He is most anxious. He requested that I arrange for a special license, but I want to be sure you were agreed."

"The Banns is too public and too slow for our liking, My Lady. If you could help me secure a license, we would both be most grateful."

"He wants Lord Grantham to be informed as well."

"Mr. Carson and I did not discuss that. I am not sure that is wise." Mrs. Hughes said, diplomatically.

"I am quite sure that it is _unwise_. If you tell my father, you are telling my mother also. Though she is capable of keeping a secret, she will not understand why something so joyous must be kept silent. I would expect most of London to know of your marriage in short order."

"Which does not suit our plans." Elsie noted. "Did Mr. Carson say why he wanted to tell Lord Grantham?"

"No. I think Carson feels guilty deceiving him, but there is no avoiding that if you are to be married soon. I also think a part of him wants the family's approval. My blessing alone is not exactly a guarantee of that."

Mrs. Hughes looked very concerned by this information, but Mary hurried to put her at ease. "Carson made it very clear that the family's disapproval would not alter his plans to marry, but I still think he would be glad to have another voice of support."

"And we agree that we cannot tell Lord Grantham?"

"Yes, but I have another idea."

TBC…

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**AN/ Just a short one today. MUCH longer one tomorrow.**


	51. Chapter 51

"Just do your best, Barrow." Lady Grantham sighed, excusing him from the parlor where she sat with Mrs. Butte finalizing the guest list and menu for her end of Season dinner party. She was tired of hearing excuses from Thomas.

Mrs. Butte had accepted the news of an end of Season dinner party with mixed feelings. She saw this event as an opportunity to redeem herself for missing Rose's ball, but she also knew that coordinating such a large event with Mr. Barrow was going to prove very difficult. To say that he was overwhelmed was an understatement.

The latest issue was finding enough of His Lordship's preferred claret to serve at the dinner. The ball had decimated the Grantham House cellar. Carson had planned to wait until the off season to replenish in order to avoid demand driven costs, but this dinner had rendered that plan moot. Even with his letters of introduction from Mr. Carson, none of the local wine merchants seemed interested in dealing with Thomas. Only a select few would even return his calls and as soon as they ascertained that Mr. Carson was still not at Grantham House, they became decidedly less helpful. "Have Mr. Carson contact us when he returns," was a phrase with which Thomas was becoming very familiar. He was starting to suspect the whole world was against him.

"I shouldn't worry too much, My Lady. Mr. Carson will be back before the dinner. He'll know whom to call. And he'll be sure to catch anything Mr. Barrow has missed." Mrs. Butte assured Lady Grantham.

"Who knew Mr. Barrow was such a nervous creature? He always struck me as so calm and sure." Cora said disapprovingly.

"If I may observe, My Lady, it is easy to be self assured when you know Mr. Carson has your back. I won't say Mr. Barrow is lazy, but I will observe that he has never shown much interest in learning the more specific details that the job of butler requires." Mrs. Butte was also keen to redeem herself for being tricked by Mr. Barrow into betraying Mr. Carson.

"I believe Mr. Carson has spoiled us, Mrs. Butte. I never sympathized with my friends when they complained about their butlers, but less than a week with Mr. Barrow has shown what a difference our butler makes. I am very fond of Carson, but I always thought Lord Grantham was exaggerating when he said we'd be lost without him. Now, I could well believe it."

"Is there any news from the clinic, My Lady? The downstairs staff would be glad to hear anything of Mr. Carson."

"Lord Grantham spoke to the doctors yesterday. They still say it will be next week until they release him, but he is doing well, so far as I know." Lady Grantham confided, wishing she had more to tell. "Lady Mary says she will visit him today on her way back from Downton. Perhaps she can tell us more."

"Will that be all, My Lady?" Mrs. Butte asked as she gathered her notes together.

"For today, Mrs. Butte. Make sure the linen in the Dowager Countess' room has been freshened, or I shall never hear the end of it. I cannot believe Lady Mary convinced her to come back." Cora did not sound very happy about Mary's success. "But then, this whole dinner was Lady Mary's idea, so we'll leave the tricky parts to her."

-00-

Thomas pouted his way down the stairs. Lady Grantham was his biggest, _only,_ supporter upstairs. If he lost her good will, he would never be awarded the position of butler. As bad as it was to have to be subordinate to Mr. Carson, Thomas would be mortified if he remained under butler while the family hired someone else, like Mr. Sprat, or perhaps even, God forbid, Mr. Molesley.

"Something on your mind, Mr. Barrow?" Mrs. Patmore asked as Thomas almost ran her over on his way to the butler's office. "Or were you just training to join a rugby team?"

"I beg your pardon, Mrs. Patmore. My mind was elsewhere." Thomas stammered.

"Well, your body is here and it bally well nearly bowled me over. I suggest you try to keep the two together more often."

Thomas' already foul mood darkened even further. "I shall do that, Mrs. Patmore, but I suggest you do a better job of staying out of _my_ way in future."

"Oh, ho! Do you now? Thank you for that bit of advice, Mr. Barrow." Beryl had been very tetchy since losing Daisy, Elsie and Charles' company all on the same day. The kitchen staff left at Grantham House were good girls, but none of them could read her mind like Daisy and none of them were very good company over a spot of tea like Elsie and Charles. "And you can be sure I'll thank you for it properly someday."

Thomas looked as though he were about to deliver a fine rejoinder, but thought better of it. Instead, he silently turned and marched into the butler's office, shutting the door firmly behind him. He looked around the butler's office. Everything was so perfect. There was not a leaf of a ledger out of order. The office spoke of experience and control and competency. Thomas felt like the very room was judging him for not being Charles Carson.

In frustration, Thomas picked up the nearest book and threw it at the great ugly chair that dominated the room. The binding ripped partially away from the pages as the book bounced back at him and onto the floor at his feet. Thomas cursed as he bent to pick it up. It was one of Mr. Carson's Dickens novels. He would definitely notice the damage.

Thomas slammed the book shut and placed it forcefully back on the desk. He was about to walk around to his chair when he noticed the slip of paper on the floor. It must have fallen out of the book. Thomas picked it up and was about to place it back in the book when something written on the paper caught his eye; his own name.

-00-

Carson sat with Lady Mary in the clinic's large visiting room. It was not the usual visiting hours, but Lady Mary was not one to let such trivialities deter her. They had called Carson out of his morning exercises. He was very self conscious to be sitting before Lady Mary in such a sweaty and disheveled state.

Lady Mary had spent ten minutes giving Carson a report about everything going on at Grantham House and Downton. Mary's report about their plans for Mr. Barrow was vague and she waved off his questions. She told him that Anna was out this very second researching Miss Baxter's former place of employment. She then spoke of Rose's latest beau and the upcoming dinner party. She spoke of Mr. Branson's attentions to Miss Bunting and of his plans to move into the agent's house after the garden party. She spoke of everything except the thing he wanted most to hear about; Elsie.

Finally, Carson had reached the limit of his patience.

"Please, My Lady, if I may ask, how is Mrs. Hughes?"

"She's perfectly well. I should have told you right off if she was not."

"And did you give her my letter?" He pressed, hungry for any news of her.

"Oh, yes, of course I gave her your letter. She said it was very sweet." Mary said dismissively.

"Sweet?" He looked disappointed in this descriptor. He had been rather proud of that letter. Perhaps it wasn't the most amazing letter of all time, but he would have expected it to be described as passionate or romantic or even lovely. But sweet?

"And did she not send a note back for me?" He tried not to sound desperate, but Mary saw right through him.

"Now that you mention it, she did want me to deliver a message. Have you a pen and paper?" She asked casually.

"What?" Carson was thoroughly confused. "No, I haven't."

Mary rummaged in her tiny beaded handbag. Charles was exasperated. How hard was it to find something in such a tiny bag?

Finally, Mary brought out a calling card and a tiny ladies pencil. She looked as though she were trying to remember exactly what Mrs. Hughes had asked her to convey. Then, she wrote a very short phrase and turned the card over so he could not see the words.

"You mustn't read it until I've gone." She warned before sliding the card over to him. "I shall try to visit you again very soon, Carson. Stay strong."

As soon as Mary's back was turned, Carson reached for the card, but Mary spun around and caught him in the act. "Not until I've left, Carson. I must insist."

For the first time in her life, Mary saw Carson look at her with something less than total devotion. She did not like the sensation, but, given the circumstances, she found it very funny. Fighting a smile, she repeated, "Not until I've left."

Mary backed towards the door, holding his gaze. Without looking, she opened the door and backed out. Just before she shut the door, she gave him a wink. Her wink confused him, but it did not delay his swift motion as he snatched up the card and flipped it over. There were only three words written on the card in Mary's confident hand.

_'Look behind you.'_

There was a sudden electricity in the room. The hairs on Carson's neck stood up. _She is here. She has to be here. _If he was wrong, he wasn't sure he would ever forgive Lady Mary for toying with him like this.

The promise of seeing Elsie again was the only thought sustaining him through his experiences at the clinic. Brooke and Josh had helped, but without his thoughts of Elsie, he would have crumbled on the first day. He had endured the near starvation, the hours of bizarre exercises, the sessions with wires taped to his chest, the seemingly endless draws of blood, the humiliation of wearing shorts in public, the threat of colonic irrigation and, worst of all, the separation from Elsie. He had not understood how much it was affecting him until he let himself believe that she was here.

Seconds ticked by, but still he could not bring himself to turn around. He stared at the note. It kept going in and out of focus as he fought his emotions, as he blinked tears back from falling. _Pull it together, man,_ he ordered himself.

Finally, he dared to look over his shoulder. And there she was, standing just behind him with a tearful smile on her face, only a few short feet away. She was even more beautiful than he remembered. Had it really only been three days since he had last seen her?

He bolted up from his chair and grabbed her around the waist so quickly that she only had time to let out a tiny squeal before he was kissing her.

-00-

Sitting behind the screen, waiting for him to arrive, Elsie already regretted going along with Lady Mary's 'little surprise' for Charles. She had wanted to protest that this was not some game and their lives were not toys for Lady Mary to play with, but after everything Mary was doing for them, it was impossible for her to protest.

She could feel Charles' frustration with Lady Mary growing with each new topic that was not Elsie. She could see around the screen how his hands flexed open and shut in his attempt to calm his nerves. After Mary's five minute description of the improvements Mr. Branson was planning for the agent's house, Elsie's own impatience almost overwhelmed her to the point of revealing herself. But it was at this point that Charles dared to interrupt his precious Lady Mary and ask about Elsie.

Lady Mary toyed with him a bit more, but soon, she was backing out of the room and Elsie had left her hiding place. Now she stood, waiting for the door to close and for Charles to turn around.

Based on the speed with which he grabbed up the card, Elsie had expected him to spin around immediately, but he did not. What had Lady Mary written on the note? Had she not told him to turn around as they had agreed?

But turn he finally did and then he moved with the speed of a cobra striking as he flew to her and held her to him, kissing her as they both somehow managed not to sob.

"You're here, you're here…" He kept repeating as he kissed her lips, her eyes, her nose, her cheek, her ear, her neck and then began the circuit again. She could not help but laugh at his eagerness. After several rotations, he began to calm. Eventually, he rested his forehead on hers as he held her face in his great hands and stared smilingly into her eyes. He gave a great, contented sigh. "You're here."

Realization dawned in his eyes and he looked at her with deep concern, as though something might be wrong. "Why are you here?"

She smiled at him with all the love in her heart. "You lovely, daft man, where else would I be on our wedding day?"

TBC…

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**AN/ I just could not keep these two apart any longer. Next chapter...um, I'm not sure, it seems like something major is supposed to happen;)**

**Thank you for your continued support. I know it is difficult to come up with new and fresh reviews for each chapter (especially this far into a story), but please know that I very much appreciate those of you who do. I do not often reply to individual reviews, but I do read them all. Several of you will be gratified to see that you guessed correctly in the next chapter, I think.**


	52. Chapter 52

"Our wedding day? Today? Here in London? Is that even possible?" Charles asked incredulously.

She nodded excitedly as her fingers felt the thin cotton shirt that stretched across his broad chest. She tilted her head downward to observe the rest of his ensemble. "And I'll marry you in those adorable shorts if you like, but if you like, I'll give you five minutes to put on your suit and meet me out front."

Blushing furiously, but still holding her, Charles nodded seriously. "I'll be there, though I may have to sneak out. They are very strict here." Charles was already thinking of the best way to get out. There was a low spot in the hedge around the pool area. He'd already thought of jumping it several times. With the promise of Elsie on the other side, he knew he could clear it.

"Don't worry about that. Lady Mary is springing you, as we speak. The doctors admitted to her yesterday that you are perfectly fit and there is no reason that they have to keep you here."

"That will be easier than my other options." Charles conceded with visible relief. "I want you to meet Brooke and Josh! They've been my surrogate Scots this week. Without their kindness, I should definitely have gone mad in here."

"I would love to meet them, Charles, but we must be quick. Our appointment is at noon."

She pulled away from his embrace and began to head towards the door, but he pulled her back, still relishing the feeling of having her back in his arms. These past few days away from her had turned him into a sentimental mess. He kissed her neck as he asked, "How have you brought all of this about, my love? You are a marvel."

"I wish I could claim the credit, but it was all Lady Mary's doing." She caressed the back of his neck and ran her fingers up into his hair, still slightly damp with sweat. _God, he smells so good._ "And the Dowager's."

Elsie almost fell as Charles released his grip on her in shock. "The Dowager knows about us? And she approves?"

Elsie smiled at his wonder. She, too, had been skeptical when Mary suggested confiding in the Dowager Countess, but, in the end, it had been the right decision. "She's securing our license right now from someone she called 'Rand'."

Though Elsie had not thought it possible, Charles looked even more astounded, "We would need a special license to marry so quickly. She can't mean Randall Davidson!"

"I don't know who that is." Elsie admitted, taking his hands.

"Only the Archbishop of Canterbury." Charles shook his head in disbelief.

"That does sound like the Dowager," Elsie could not help laughing. "Trust her to go to the head of The Church. She wouldn't want to deal with any low level clergy. Come to think of it, she did say something about Lambeth. "

Charles found himself mesmerized by her laugh. "No one but the head of The Church can grant a special license, my love. I am grateful to them, I don't know if I could have waited even one more day to marry you. You are so beautiful, Elsie." He gushed, but then he looked worried. "Isn't it bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the wedding?"

"Do you feel unlucky?" Elsie teased, running her hands up his large, bare arms.

"I feel like the luckiest man in the world." Charles admitted as goose flesh sprung up on his arms in the wake of her touch. He wrapped his arms around her as her hands reached his shoulders.

"Then it's just an old superstition and we needn't bother about it." On tip toe, she gave him a slow, sensuous kiss. "Now let's meet your friends, get your things and go get married. What do you say to that?"

"I say, 'Follow me.'" He pulled her by the hand towards the door and out into the clinic. Charles knew that Brooke would be on her break right now and hoped Josh would be with her.

He found them both already waiting for him by the clinics front offices, speaking to Lady Mary. They had heard of his visitor and neither had wanted to miss the opportunity to meet either the vaunted Lady Mary or the acclaimed Elsie Hughes. They were surprised and gratified to meet both.

"You said they would come to your rescue." Josh congratulated him heartily after formal introductions had been made. Charles excused himself to change and retrieve his things. He was back in less than five minutes, dressed in his Sunday best and carrying his small bag.

They had engaged in some small talk, mostly about Charles or Scotland, in Carson's absence. Mary was looking at Brooke with some wonder. She had never seen a woman so tall before. As Carson approached, Mary was still trying to ascertain exactly what Brooke's job entailed. "And what exactly is colonic irrigation?" she asked, with a look of reluctant curiosity.

Charles was a little concerned that Josh or Brooke would start to talk about shit in front of Lady Mary, but they both knew better than to humiliate their friend.

"I use water and soap to facilitate efficient evacuation of the bowels." Mary and Elsie gave Charles looks of near horror as he rejoined them. "But Mr. Carson escaped the procedure. Instead, we just ate yogurt and chatted."

"We haven't saved you from anything, have we?" Mary relaxed and chastised Carson as he took his place beside Elsie. "You've been on a regular vacation; laying by the pool, getting massages and eating yogurt with your new friends."

"You most certainly have saved me. Mr. and Mrs. Macduff saved me from dwelling on how much I missed Mrs. Hughes, but there are few things that terrify me more than the idea of a vacation." Charles shook hands with Josh and allowed the air to be crushed out of him by Brooke. "You have my address. Please do write. I might be able to offer your nephew a job if you think getting out of the city would be best for him."

"We'll be in touch, Charles, until then, take care and congratulations." Brooke bid him goodbye as he and Elsie followed Lady Mary out of the clinic.

-00-

"Was that woman a Viking?" Mary could not help but ask as they climbed into a cab. There was not room for both Mrs. Hughes and Mr. Carson in the front of the cab, so Mary had insisted that they both ride in back with her. Normally, Charles would have protested, but he was resigned to doing whatever he was told today, so long as it included marrying Elsie. Charles and Elsie sat in the jump seats with their backs to the driver's compartment, leaving Lady Mary the large, forward facing seat to herself. They all saw how ridiculous this was, but did not alter their arrangements.

Elsie laughed at Mary's question. "There is a good deal of Viking blood in the Orkney's. I imagine Mrs. Macduff is from the far north."

During the short cab ride to St. Columba's Elsie recounted the Norse history of the Orkney's. She found it odd to be talking about such trivial things on the way to her wedding. Every now and then, she would catch Charles' eye and blush at the undisguised adoration she saw there.

When they arrived at the church, Mary took charge. "Carson, you go on into the church. Mrs. Hughes and I will be in shortly."

Unable to deny her, but unsure of where to go, Charles entered the church. Walking in, he found the church very different from the last time he had been here. Before the concert, the church had been noisy and crowded; a scene of communion and mirth not unlike a town commons during a fair. Now, the foyer was empty, giving it a solemn dignity.

Removing his hat, Charles walked reverently into the church proper. With the pews empty, the room felt larger. Charles spotted a minister near the pulpit and walked down the aisle to speak to him. His nerves grew with every step towards the altar. He could not have been more excited if every seat in the church were filled with friends and well-wishers, but he did have some doubts.

Charles could not help but wonder if this would be a disappointment to Elsie. She deserved to have all of her friends here and her sister. She deserved bouquets of flowers and an entourage of flower girls and attendants. Didn't every girl dream of her wedding day? Hadn't Carson sat through endless hours of Ladies Mary, Edith and Sybil arguing over their own wedding plans since they were young?

He almost turned around; almost told her that they should wait until they could be married publicly and properly, but then a figure rose from the pew at the front of the church. It was the Dowager Countess.

"My Lady." Carson bowed to her as he finally reached the altar.

"Carson, you look like a man about to be sentenced, not a man about to be married." Lady Violet quipped. "Not that there is _much _distinction between the two."

"Thank you for being here, Countess. I am honored by your support, My Lady."

"Oh, tosh, how often do I get the opportunity to do something for you, Carson? The honor is mine." Lady Violet twitched a little, uncomfortable showing her emotions for this dear man. She did care deeply for Carson, though it would be unacceptable to admit as such. Carson had been a constant in her family since before her husband had died. "I am sorry you cannot have a best man, but I shall have to do."

"I can think of no one I would rather have stand with me, My Lady. You are certainly as good as any man."

"I am a good deal better than most men _I've_ met." She could not resist adding as she pinned a boutonniere to his lapel. It was a simple white rose with a sprig of baby's breath tied with a tartan ribbon.

Carson could not help but smile at this. She was certainly stronger than most men he had met. As she fussed over his boutonniere, Carson felt his emotions begin to overwhelm him. _This is real. This is happening!_ The Dowager Countess was pinning a flower to his coat. At any moment, Elsie was going to walk into this church in order to wed her soul to his.

The minister took his hand and introduced himself. Charles did not catch his name. He was too busy staring at the church door, which had been closed behind him. The Dowager patted her hand comfortingly on his arm as Carson's mouth went dry. He was convinced the sound of his labored swallowing could be heard in every corner of the church.

Finally, the handle of the door clicked loudly and the door swung open excruciatingly slowly. Anna beamed at him as she began to walk down the aisle arm in arm with Lady Mary. Mary smiled smugly at her friend's side. She had been no more than eight years old when she claimed the right from her sisters to be flower girl at Mr. Carson's wedding. Both young ladies gave each other a sideways glance and stifled their laughter when they saw Mr. Carson looking at them. He was smiling, but he wore the expression of a man who had to endure a very nice dinner in order to get to his favorite dessert.

When Anna and Mary were halfway down the aisle, the door opened again. This time, Charles face almost cracked in half from his smile.

In the brief moments outside the church, Anna had added small sprigs of flowers to Elsie's hair. Elsie was carrying a bouquet of white roses and lavender and she had donned a tartan sash over her best suit. Light filtered into the church from the stained-glass windows, casting a soft, warm light over them all. Mrs. Hughes, looking every inch a radiant woman of considerably fewer years than she truly was, grinned coyly at him as she walked down the aisle on Mr. Branson's arm. Elsie had confided her plans in Tom this morning before leaving, knowing that he already knew their big secret. Tom had insisted on coming up to London for the ceremony. When she saw his determination, Elsie had asked him to walk her down the aisle.

The tiny procession finally reached Charles, the Dowager Countess and the minister. Tom handed Mrs. Hughes over to Carson with a look of, 'you'll answer to me if you don't do right by this woman' and a wink. Charles faced Elsie whose countenance did not betray one iota of the nerves she felt.

"Are you certain this is what you want, love?" Charles asked lowly.

"What do you mean?" His question did not alarm her. She had expected it.

"To do this without all of our friends and your family? I've joked that I cannot wait, but if you asked me to, I would."

"Do you want to wait?" She asked gently.

"No." Charles answered emphatically.

"Then our friends and family will share our joy whenever we tell them. The only people we need today are you and I."

The Dowager coughed not too subtly at this point. "And the Dowager Countess with our special license." Elsie allowed.

"Very good." The minister interrupted, "Let us begin."

Ever after, it was a point of contention between Mary and Anna who had cried the most during the ceremony, Tom or the Dowager. Mary claimed that though Lady Violet hid it better, she had started first and therefore had cried more. Anna insisted that the Dowager had not let a single tear fall, catching them all with her handkerchief before they could escape her eyes, while Tom had wept openly until the front of his jacket had two large spots of tears on it.

Neither Anna nor Mary would ever accuse each other of crying over much, though they had clung tightly to each other all through the ceremony. It was hard not to weep while witnessing the joining of two souls so obviously meant for each other; two souls that had been denied this rite for so many years because of silly social conventions. Mixed with Mary's tears of joy were tears of her own guilt, knowing that she had played a hand in keeping these two apart. She hoped her role in bringing them together would mitigate her guilt.

Finally, the rings that Elsie had purchased that morning were exchanged. She looked up into her Charles' shining eyes. Having already received his oath, Elsie declared, "I call upon these persons here present to witness that I, Elsie Margaret Hughes, do take thee, Charles Edward Carson, to be my lawful wedded husband. To have and to hold, from this day forward, in sickness and in health, for richer or for poorer, to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God's holy ordinance; and thereto I plight thee my troth."

There was no grand music playing as the minister declared them man and wife, only the cheers from their three witnesses. No rice showered them as they left the church, but they were covered with embraces and kisses as they exited the building and headed for their waiting cab.

"Aren't we all having lunch?" The Dowager wondered loudly as it became clear that the couple was leaving them.

"We can have lunch wherever you like, Grandmama." Mary assured her. "But Mr. and Mrs. Carson will not be joining us."

"Do they have a train to catch?" Lady Violet asked, honestly perplexed. Why would two people of such advanced age be so eager to start their honeymoon? This was London, after all. There was always another train.

"Something like that." Mary rolled her eyes. "And we don't want to see you until Wednesday," Mary reminded Mrs. Carson. She had already made arrangements with the bride for the honeymoon. The staff at Downton thought Mrs. Hughes was visiting her sister. The staff at Grantham House thought Mr. Carson was in the clinic.

"If you try to come back early, we shall lock you out." Anna added.

"I don't think there is any fear of that." Carson beamed, following Elsie into the cab. "Thank you. Thank you, all, for everything."

"Yes, thank you!" Elsie called as her one hand reached for the door as she pulled her husband into the cab with the other without sparing another glance for any of them.

Their cab pulled away, leaving the rest of the wedding party waving on the pavement. "I don't see why they couldn't take a later train." Lady Violet commented, still perplexed at having the guests of honor abandon their celebration. Her three companions burst out laughing. The truth finally dawned on the Dowager Countess. "Oh. Yes, I see. Then I suggest we head to the Criterion for lunch. Anna, I hope you will be joining us."

"That is a lovely suggestion." Mary said, taking her grandmother's arm in a rare display of public affection as Tom hailed them a cab. "Thank you, again, for securing the license."

"I am happy to do anything for Carson. Though it was not easy. Rand was not keen to hear that they would be wed in the Church of Scotland, but I reminded him of the time he was less than a gentleman to me before he married his Edith." Violet said roguishly before patting Mary's arm lovingly. "Did you know that our Edith is named for his wife? She was Edith Tait before she was Edith Davidson."

"I think you shall have to tell us all the story over lunch." Mary said brightly, offering her free arm to Anna.

TBC…

* * *

**AN/ Presenting Mr. and Mrs. Carson! I shall take a day or two to write the next chapter. I need to get it just right. ****Please do review if you have a moment. **


	53. Chapter 53

"Don't you want to know where we are going?" Elsie teased as she came up for air in the back of the cab.

"No." Charles breathed huskily into her ear.

"You don't care at all?"

"Not really." He said shortly. "Wait. Will you be there?"

"Of course!" She giggled.

"Is it private?"

"Yes. A good deal more private than the back of this cab." Her comment caused Charles to cast a quick, guilty look at the driver, who was resolutely keeping his eyes on the traffic in front of him. With his attention diverted, Elsie pushed him back into his seat beside her and snuggled up next to him before he could gain the upper hand again.

"Then, no, I don't care where we go." He said, his hands once again beginning to explore the curves of her body. "So long as it is close."

"Very." She pointed out the window as they pulled up in front of the hotel.

"Elsie, we can't stay here." Charles looked up at the front of Claridge's with the petrified look of pauper who has been offered a room at Buckingham palace.

"Just for one night. It's a wedding gift from the Dowager Countess. You wouldn't want to insult her, would you?"

"Of course not, but…Claridge's? Elsie, the royalty of the world stays here."

"Today,_ we_ are royalty, Charles. You are my king and I am your queen." This drew his eyes from the hotel and onto his lovely bride. Her loving gaze drove all doubts from his mind.

"Very well, my queen. Your castle awaits." The doorman opened the door at just that moment and Charles descended with an air of entitlement worthy of an emperor. He offered his hand back for Elsie to take, all but ignoring the doorman. Elsie followed his lead and refused to make eye contact with any of the staff. She knew acknowledging them as actual people would mark her and Charles as hoi polloi immediately.

As a bellhop removed the luggage from the cab's boot, a greasy clerk approached them. "Welcome to Claridge's, sir. Were we expecting you?"

Charles looked to Elsie, hoping she knew the exact arrangements.

"You should have accommodations for Mr. and Mrs. Carson, the reservation was made by the Dowager Countess of Grantham." Elsie said haughtily. Charles bit back a sudden laugh. Elsie's brogue was almost completely gone. Her accent and demeanor were a very passable impression of Lady Mary.

"Yes. The Countess called us this morning." He led them inside, bowing sycophantically. Charles wanted to tell the man to show a little self dignity, but refrained from a professional critique. "We have prepared the suite she requested. And may I say, congratulations, Mr. and Mrs. Carson? I understand it is your anniversary."

"It is." Charles thought, _twenty two years. _

"And will your maid and valet be arriving later?"

"No." Elsie said quickly, before Charles could speak. "We are on our way to the continent tomorrow and have given them time to enjoy London. We were not planning on dining out tonight."

"Of course. We are honored that you've chosen to break your journey with us. Simply ring down when we require anything; tea or dinner. You will find a full menu in the suite."

The trio reached the door of the bridal suite very quickly. As the clerk ran about the room, showing them the location of the menu, the phone and the bell cords, Charles began to panic. He did not have sufficient moneys in his wallet to tip this man. He did not want to embarrass Lady Violet by having her guests considered cheap. Elsie took his arm lovingly and stroked his hand, pressing several notes into it. Of course, between Elsie, Mary and Lady Violet, they had thought of everything.

Finally, their luggage arrived. Elsie had obviously packed and brought a case for him from Downton. Charles tipped the bellman with a practiced subtlety and did likewise with the clerk as the toadying young man bid them a good afternoon.

Just as the door closed, he heard Elsie break into the most enchanting laughter. He turned to watch his wife spinning slowly, looking about the room.

"What do you think, Charles?" She giggled, seeing a bottle of champagne on ice on the table beside the settee. Her brogue was back. "Have we managed to surprise you?"

"You always surprise me, love." He admitted. "This morning, I woke up hoping for a letter from you. And now, it's not even tea time and we are married."

"I couldn't let you have time to get cold feet." She moved to the champagne and began to remove the foil.

"As if that were ever a possibility." Charles moved swiftly to the settee and sat down, looking up at her in abject adoration. Elsie removed the cork with a deft twist of the wrist and filled the two flutes provided. She sat on the settee beside him. Charles drank his champagne in one gulp and set the flute aside.

"Speaking of feet." Charles reached down and took hold of her tiny shoe. "I seem to remember that my wife has the most delicate feet with the most perfect toes."

Elsie giggled and sipped her champagne as Charles removed first one shoe and then the other. Now, both of her feet were on the settee beside him. Tenderly, Charles ran his hand from her foot up the length of her stocking covered leg. Elsie gave a sharp intake of breath as his hand climbed beyond her knee and found the garter. With the garter detached, Charles began to roll the wool stocking down slowly.

"Do you know, that until last Thursday on the beach, I had never seen your bare feet?"

"I didn't know that you wanted to see my feet."

"Neither did I, until I did."

"And when you did see them? Was that what made you finally fall in love with me?"

"I've always been in love with you," he replied seriously. "But I think seeing you with your stockings off was the beginning of my not being able to deny it any longer."

The first stocking was completely removed now. Charles placed a light kiss upon her ankle before setting her first foot in his lap and picking up the other foot. This time, his touch was firmer, already more confident. The second stocking came of quickly and efficiently. He kissed the inside of her ankle and then placed her foot behind him. When Elsie realized her legs were straddling him, she blushed and pulled both legs back almost underneath her in a protective posture.

Trying not to look hurt, Charles reached past her and took up the bottle of Champagne. He refilled her glass and then filled his own again. "I'm sorry, love. We'll take this as slowly as we need to."

"No, Charles, I'm the one who is sorry. It's just-it's the middle of the afternoon. We haven't even had tea yet."

"Shall I ring for some tea? Would that make you more comfortable?" There was no frustration or sarcasm in the question. He was truly concerned about putting her at ease.

"I don't know. Maybe," she shrugged. "It's not that we haven't had tea, it's just that I thought this sort of thing was usually done at night. It seems so improper, so wanton. You know, it's called a wedding night, not a wedding afternoon."

"They also call the meal after the wedding a breakfast, no matter what time it is held." He leaned in and gave her a tender kiss, intending to get up and order some tea, but his lips lingered longer than he had meant.

"That's true." She agreed breathily, brushing her fingers lightly through the salt and pepper hair at his temple.

"Elsie, we are married now, nothing we do is improper. And I would fight any man who dared call you wanton." He still hovered over her, but not in an aggressive way. "It's okay to be nervous, love."

"I know that, Charles, but I've never done this before." Her cheeks flushed to admit her inexperience.

"And you think I have?" He raised his eyebrows in shock.

"Haven't you?"

"The theatre crowd is not as debauched as you might believe. There were some of that sort, but the majority of us were perfectly normal people with morals and everything." He sat back and pulled her gently forward until she was sitting with her legs across him, not quite sitting on his lap.

"So we'll be learning together?"

"Yes, though I did hear a lot of stories in my youth and in my years on the boards." Charles admitted. "And, from what I've heard, I should be more nervous than you."

"Why is that?"

"Women are apparently more difficult to please than men. From what I've heard."

"And what exactly have you heard?"

"Much of my education has been in the form of limericks. I would be happy to share my knowledge." His look was mischievous.

"I am not sure I want to hear this." She said playfully.

"'Here is the tale of a fine Scottish lass, with a beautiful smile and a wonderful-'"

"CHARLES!" Elsie pretended to be scandalized and jumped up from the settee. She grabbed one of the suitcases and scampered into the bedroom.

He called after her, "Elsie, I know I am not very experienced, but I am fairly certain we need to be in the same room."

"Daft man!" Her laughter carried back to him. She came back into the sitting room with a box. "I bought this for you."

"You are spoiling me, Elsie. I shall never be content to be just a butler after today."

"Then it is a good thing you have never been _just_ a butler." She kissed the top of his head, but danced away before he could take her hand and pull her back to the settee. She stopped and leaned coquettishly in the bedroom doorway. "Open it."

He looked at her suspiciously as he opened the gift, which looked like a shirt box.

Charles looked down at the navy silk pajamas. He had never owned any nightclothes so fine as this. He had always been content with the pajamas provided by the house. Once a year, the house bought a bulk bolt of fabric every year and the lowest maids were tasked with making nightclothes for the staff. This had always been sufficient.

"I bought them in Ripon. They are just like His Lordship's. Bates told Anna where I could buy them."

Charles ran his fingers along the soft silk. Wearing these would feel like wearing nothing. Now, it was Charles' turn to feel nervous. Somehow, these pajamas had brought home to him the reality of the moment. It went far beyond making love to his wife for the first time. This would be the first time that they would share a bed from evening until morning. This was the first of many nights when he could roll over in the night and find her beside him. Would she want to cuddle all night? Would she need her space? Did he snore? Which side of the bed would she want?

Elsie saw all these questions beginning to dawn on his face. She'd already considered them and knew this was just another adjustment they would have to face together. "I bought something for myself as well."

That certainly caught his attention and piqued his curiosity. "What did you buy?"

"Also something silky. Would you like to see it?"

"Very much." He stood up to follow her into the bedroom.

"No, Charles. You wait here." She ordered. "You can put on your pajamas if you like."

"Is that what you'd like for me to do?"

She simply nodded.

"What about tea?" he asked.

"Tea can wait." She whispered as she slipped into the bedroom and closed the door behind her.

TBC…

* * *

**AN/ I have to give a nod to GraceBe and the story 'Stolen Time' for the stockings moment.**

**I also want to say 'Thank You' to anyone who voted for my story 'Training Wheels' for the Highclere Awards in the Past/Future category. We won! Chelsie writers are making a good showing in the general categories! Well done all of us; writers and readers! Yeah! I think we may owe some of our success to the PR firm of CheslieFan, ChelsieFan and ChelsieFan;)  
**

**Next chapter, behind the bedroom door…**


	54. Chapter 54

Charles had rummaged in his valise for his comb and took a few brief seconds to groom himself before dressing in his silky pajamas as quickly as he had ever dressed in his life. He buttoned every button on the pajama top, all the way to the collar. The silk felt decadent as it flowed over his muscles, taut with anticipation.

Forcing his breathing to calm, Charles knocked at the bedroom door. "Are you ready for me, my love?"

"Yes, Charles, you may enter."

Unable to mistake the double meaning in her reply, Charles felt his pulse quicken as he turned the doorknob and did as she bid.

The room was in a state of near darkness. The summer day's sunlight glowed at the edges of the drawn curtains like the light of a solar eclipse. A single floor lamp was lit beside the bed.

"I wanted it to feel like night." She explained abashedly. She was standing in a darkened corner of the room.

"Whatever my lady wishes." He agreed readily. The lighting of the room did not matter to him one bit. Only she mattered. "Won't you come into the light where I can see you?"

She shuffled tentatively into the circle of light cast by the floor lamp. Charles let out a sharp breath as he beheld her before him.

"It looked different in the store. I thought it was longer." She apologized. She could not help from explaining herself. She wore a black chemise made of sheer silk and large bands of lace. The hem of the garment hit her mid-thigh, but it did not completely cover the peach lace of her drawers. In some ways, Elsie felt more exposed wearing this than if she had been simply standing naked before him.

Elsie suddenly felt like she was making a pathetic attempt to appear young and desirable. But then she dared to look up at Charles and her doubts evaporated. He was looking at her with an expression she had never before seen on his face. The closest she could remember was when Mrs. Patmore made bread pudding with whiskey cream sauce for his birthday dessert, but that paled in comparison to the desire she saw now.

"It looks beautiful," he whispered as he took a step towards her. "You are beautiful."

Still nervous, she retreated towards her corner of the room, keeping the bed between them. Understanding her trepidation, Charles tamped down his desire and took up his place on the opposite side of the bed, standing beside the floor lamp. His shadow was cast across the room, shrinking the pool of light until it contained only Elsie.

Slowly, Charles turned down the bed. He made a show of plumping the pillows, which made her smile. Seeing that she was a little more at ease, Charles held his hand out to her over the bed. "Come on. I dare you." He teased, echoing their conversation of just over a week ago; a conversation that had precipitated certain events and had led them here. "You can hold my hand. Then we'll both go in together."

Her eyes sparkled as she recognized her own words in his mouth. "I think I will hold your hand. It will make me feel a bit steadier."

"You can always hold my hand if you need to feel steady." He waggled his eyebrows at her in a very risqué fashion.

Elsie laughed. "I thought I was the one who was supposed to steady you."

"Elsie, we are man and wife. We must steady each other."

Feeling her confidence grow, Elsie leaned across to grasp his offered hand. She was not quite able to reach him and she knelt on the bed as their hands finally touched. After she was settled comfortably on her side of the bed, Charles dropped his hand and stepped back from the bed to admire the sight of his wife kneeling on their wedding bed.

After a few moments of tantalized contemplation, Charles approached the bed again.

"Shall I make a start then?" He began to unbutton the top of his pajama top. For a brief moment, Elsie wanted to ask him to stop. This was suddenly too real. What if she was a disappointment to him? What if her time worn body could not give him the pleasure he deserved?

But then, Charles removed the pajama top with a flourish and Elsie began to snicker.

"That is not the response a man wants from a woman when he reveals himself." Charles chastised her gently.

"Then a man should not have worn a bathing costume beneath his pajamas." She giggled further.

"You said you wanted to see how it looked." He reminded her, stepping quickly out of his pajama bottoms and standing before her clad only in the black wool of the bathing suit. He spun on the spot, presenting himself for her appraising eye. "What do you think?"

"I think a honeymoon at Brighton is out of the question."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because I do not intend to share such a glorious sight of my magnificent husband with anyone."

"Glorious? Magnificent? I can live with that." His eyes narrowed lustily as he began to climb onto the bed with her.

"Charles, could you please turn off the light?"

"If you wish, but may I ask why?"

"I'm not ready for you to see me…without…I just think I would be more comfortable with this if it were dark. Like when we were in the park. That felt more _natural._"

Charles nodded understandingly. "Whatever my lady wishes." he repeated as he climbed off the bed and switched off the lamp on his side of the bed. "Better?"

"Yes, thank you, my love."

He knelt upon the bed, his hand groping for hers in the deeper darkness. Finding her hand, he drew her to him. Now they were as they had been in the park; two indistinct bodies pressing against each other in the dark in their need to become one. There were no more words to be spoken between them. From now on, their communication was tactile, chemical and inarticulate.

Light touches tickled her shoulders. She could not distinguish which sensations were caused by his finger tips and which were caused by the tips of her hair, which he had unpinned and with which he was now playing. His lips and tongue followed his fingers in tracing the edge of her shoulder as his hands descended to her body. Here, silk delicately teased her skin as his fingers caressed her with an ethereal weightlessness. His touch was smoother than the gossamer fabric against her hypersensitive skin. Every contact triggered a new wave which resonated and rippled through her body. Her nerves tingled like the surface of a pond impacted by the thousand droplets of a summer rain.

Elsie was overwhelmed by the sensations she was currently experiencing. Her awareness rose outside of herself. She felt like an objective observer as he slipped the short gown over her head. He felt and tasted her newly exposed flesh, an undiscovered country he yearned to chart. She lost all notion of time. The shame she had expected to feel never materialized, overshadowed by the thrill of sharing herself with him. His attentions excited her and she tried to return his adoration in kind. She pushed the straps of the bathing costume off his shoulders and down his muscular arms. She left the top of the suit bunched at his waste and ran her hands up to his chest. She brushed her fingers through the coarse hair that adorned his torso.

She sighed as he kissed her and pulled her more closely to him. She moaned as he lowered her down onto the bed and lay beside her. Charles' desire was driven to new heights by the sighs and gasps and inarticulate sounds coming from her. Forcing himself away from her briefly, Charles slid the bathing suit completely from his body and rolled back to hold her.

He could see her body in silhouette laying beside him. He felt his desire pulsing through his body as he began to kiss her breasts hungrily. Her fingers in his hair held his face to her. Charles ran his hands down her side to her leg and back up, pausing to cup the firm curve of her behind. Every time his fingers ghosted over the rough lace of her fancy French undergarment, her last vestige of modesty, his need and anticipation grew. He hooked a finger around the garment at her hip and began to tug gently. The tilt of her hips and the sharp pressure of her nails digging into his back gave him permission to pull the drawers completely down her legs.

His head rested briefly on her stomach before he began to work his way back up her body. His mouth teased up her torso as his hands trailed up her legs, tickling the soft skin behind her knees. Unable to wait any longer, Elsie pulled his head up from her chest and pressed her lips to his. His body followed this movement and he hovered over her, covering her, skin pressing against skin. Their bodies were separated only by a thin layer of slick, salty sweat.

Then, finally, the joining that had begun with their vows a few short hours ago was achieved. Their thoughts and their actions became primitive and raw. The teasing and the gentleness was gone, they allowed their animal instincts to lead them towards their common goal. They moved together, undulating in a rhythm set by their deepest primal memories.

Elsie felt the sensation of waves again, but now, Elsie _was_ the wave. She had heard of waves on the other side of the world that began as earthquakes in the ocean's depths. Like those waves, she felt herself rise, a surge rolling through the fathomless deep unseen. The anticipation grew in her like that energy, unchallenged and unrealized, as it approaches the shore upon which it will spend itself.

Her passion gathered momentum, traveling upwards as it emerged from the silent ocean composed of years of repression and self-denial. Finally, the wave she rode, the wave she was, broke against him. Her release washed over him with destructive power, surprising him with its devastating force, sweeping him along with it.

It was a full minute until Charles had the energy to even push himself off of her. His arms trembled as he reached out to pull her close to him. Her breathing still came in hitched gasps that matched his own. His mind was incapable of forming coherent thoughts or words so he merely grunted as she nestled into the warmth of his arms and threw her own arm across him. He knew that he wanted to tell her something, but he could not remember the words 'I love you' any more than he could remember his own name or the name of this overwhelming creature by his side.

Not surprisingly, it was Elsie who recovered first. As Charles yawned sleepily beside her, Elsie felt wide awake. She put her feet on the floor and stood up from the bed. Her legs were shaky under her due to the discovery of muscles she had never used before; muscles she knew would strengthen with repeated exercise.

Her pupils had dilated in her ecstasy and the room did not seem as dark to her as it had previously. She looked back at the bed. She could see him clearly, laying exposed and innocent there. The sheets were tangled in his feet. Elsie went to the dressing table and poured herself a glass of water, relishing her freedom from clothing and from guilt.

A groan from Charles told her he was enjoying her new found lack of modesty as well. Elsie went to a window and slowly drew back the curtain. The room filled with illumination. She was stark naked before him in the light of day and still, she felt no shame. They had shared the final intimacy. There were no more secrets, no more doubts and no more walls between them.

Her alabaster skin glowed in the summer's afternoon light. The sight caused Charles to forget his weariness. Swinging his legs over her side of the bed, he sat facing her. If he felt any embarrassment for her or for himself, she could not see it. All she read in his countenance was love and satisfaction.

She approached him and offered him a drink of water. He accepted it silently, never taking his eyes from hers. When the water was gone, she set the glass on the bedside table and let him pull her down to sit upon his lap. He kissed her collarbone and nuzzled his nose into the hair behind her ear. As his lips found her earlobe, he whispered, "I love you, my beautiful wife."

Her response was a glittering shower of laughter accompanied by a wave of passionate kisses to his lovely face. "And I love you, my beautiful husband." She tipped them back onto the bed where they wrestled briefly, finally settling into a comfortable embrace laying side by side. They let contentment and exhaustion claim them. They slept confidently. The sheet was left forgotten, pooled at the foot of the bed, as they lay entwined together. They had nothing to hide.

TBC…

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**AN/ Whew. I really find physical intimacy hard to write, but I think this one turned out okay. I'm pretty sure Charles and Elsie were satisfied, at any rate;)**


	55. Chapter 55

**AN/ '****This episode contains scenes which may not be suitable for all audiences, and has a parental guideline rating of TV-14, Adult Situations.'**

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Elsie stretched luxuriously on the huge bed. Daylight still streamed through the windows, but it was a warmer light as the summer night slowly approached. She became aware of Charles sitting on the edge of the bed, fully clothed. For one terrible second, she feared he had decided to rejoin the family at Grantham House, but then she saw the loving look in his eyes as he watched her stretching and knew better.

"What are you doing dressed, love?"

"I was going to order us some dinner."

"Dinner? What time is it?"

"Not yet six, but it's too late for tea proper."

"That does not explain why you are dressed in your suit."

"I wouldn't want to answer the door in my pajamas when the bellhop brings the food..."

"Why not? You cannot honestly care what the bellhop thinks of you."

"No. I care what he thinks of you." Charles leaned down to kiss her. "I won't have them sniggering behind their hands at you tomorrow when we leave. As far as they know, we are a respectable couple of a certain age…"

"…who eat dinner at six and go to sleep by seven?" she teased.

"I don't like to be the one who breaks this to you, Charles, but we _are_ a respectable couple of a certain age." She reminded him, though her hand scratching along the back of his coat and the fact she was not wearing a stitch of clothing did not support her statement. "And so, you've gotten fully dressed to receive the bellhop when he brings our dinner?"

"Yes." He said in that tone of his that told her any further argument was pointless. His mind was satisfied with his logic and would not be changed easily.

"Of course you did." She rolled her eyes and rolled back onto the bed.

Charles withdrew his eyes from her prone body reluctantly. While they were now more comfortable with each other's bodies, Charles knew that the sight of his naked wife would always affect him. "Aren't you hungry?"

At the mention of food, Elsie's stomach grumbled spectacularly. "I am famished."

"Good, then I shall order us dinner, unless there are any objections."

"Only one." She sat up and draped herself over his back, running her hands down his chest from behind. "I'm lonely and you are overdressed."

"That is two objections." Charles pointed out as he struggled to focus on his task of procuring food.

"But they are related." She began to pull at his tie.

"Your objections are noted and I shall remedy them very soon, but I need sustenance or you will wear me out. And you need to eat as well." He turned in her arms and allowed himself the indulgence of kissing her and running his hands along her soft skin and taut muscles.

Her stomach growled again, one physical need exerting its dominance over another. "Traitor. Why couldn't you just keep quiet?" She scolded her stomach.

"As your husband, I must look out for your well being, even when you won't let me." Charles laughed as he tore himself slowly away from her. "Is there anything particular my queen demands?"

"Only that the food arrives quickly so I may enjoy more time with my king."

"So the soufflé is out," he joked from the doorway.

"I should think that goes without saying."

Charles went into the sitting room to use the phone to place the order. Elsie took the opportunity to slip into the bathroom attached to the bedroom. She took a perfunctory bath with her hair bundled on top of her head. As she stepped out of the bath, she spied herself in the mirror. Before this afternoon, she would have blushed to ever contemplate her own body so brazenly. Now, she drank in the sight with a newly discovered confidence. She did not see the signs of aging on her body, though they were no doubt there. All she saw now were the marks of his love; small scratches from his nails and nips from his teeth and red ovals left by his lips.

"Elsie?"

"In here, love. Have you ordered the food?"

"It's here."

"Already?"

"I made sure to order very simple plates. It's more of a picnic than a dinner."

"Lovely." She emerged from the bathroom wrapped in a towel and saw him standing beside a silver cart with a smorgasbord of edibles. Charles was pouring the last of the champagne from the first bottle into their glasses while a second bottle chilled on ice on the cart. He still wore his full Sunday suit with his tie firmly knotted. "But first, we must remedy the disparity of clothing."

She began to untie his tie and unbutton his collar. He took a slice of apple and pressed it to her lips. As she peeled the layers off of him, he continued to give her sips of champagne and feed her bits of fruit, cheese and pastry while stealing a few sips and bites for himself.

"Thank you for letting me take care of you, love." He kissed the top of her head as she unbuckled his belt.

"Do you know, you are _exactly_ the type of charmer that I tell my girls to be wary of."

"Me? A charmer?" He tipped the last dregs of the first bottle of champagne into her mouth as she let his pants drop to the floor.

"Yes, you'll say whatever it takes in the moment to get what you want." Finally, he was wearing only his shorts and their hunger for food had been sated for the time being. Another hunger began to assert itself.

"You've figured me out. Except for one thing."

"What is that?"

"I already have what I want." He wrapped his arms around her.

She pushed him backwards where he sat heavily on the bed. Charles perched on the edge of the bed with Elsie standing before him still in her towel. "Do you?"

"Almost. Would you please let your hair down, love," he requested quietly.

When her arms were raised and her hands were busy in her hair, Charles reached out for the towel, unfastened it and opened it. "Mmm." He commented approvingly. "_There's_ what I want."

"You tricked me." She accused him lovingly as he used the towel to draw her closer.

"All's fair in love and war."

"Are we at war?" she teased.

"We soon shall be, if you don't kiss me."

"Anything to keep the peace." She leaned in closely to kiss his waiting lips. Needing to be closer, she climbed onto his lap, her knees on either side of him, kneeling on the bed. He dropped the towel and brought his hands to the back of her thighs to support her. Between them, she immediately felt his response to her. Unlike their first time, she was able to retain language. "Lie back, love," she ordered. He did as he was bid.

Elsie relished her power over him. She basked in his adoring gaze as she sat astride him. She shifted her weight and heard his guttural groan. She watched his eyes begin to roll back into his head. His grip on her thighs tightened. Her own body loosened and she lowered herself even closer to him. She felt exhilarated and powerful and playful.

She leaned over him, one hand scratching his broad chest. With the other hand, she placed a finger teasingly on his lips, and whispered. "Tell me what you want."

His reply was an indecipherable grunt. She laughed and lifted her hips away from his. A look of dumb panic appeared on his face. Words still eluded him.

"Tell me what you want." She repeated playfully.

He tried to sit up, his mouth questing for the skin of her breast, but she pushed him back to the mattress, her hands pressed against his chest as it rose and fell with his labored breath. He growled and frowned terribly, making her laugh even more.

"_Tell_ me what you want."

He shut his eyes and seemed to be concentrating very hard on finding his words. Finally, he opened his eyes and looked steadily at her. He managed to utter one syllable. "You."

"What was that?" She caressed his sides, tickling him.

"You!" He laughed as she continued to tease him mercilessly. Her relentless tickling drove him to action. Rolling her onto the bed beneath him, he pinned her arms above her head. Oddly, even with their change of position, she felt in utter control of him.

"You!" He repeated. "I want you, you beautiful Scottish minx."

"No one is stopping you." She pointed out, giggling and wrapping a leg around him. Charles began to laugh too, but the sound was deep and predatory.

"Just for that, I am going to find out just how ticklish _you_ are." He released her arms and braced himself over her. Then, his mouth began to prove the words that had just left it. His lips and tongue began to track down her body, finding the most ticklish skin and teasing her mercilessly. She bit her lower lip to keep from crying out. For some reason, she wanted to withhold that satisfaction from him just now. Her lack of response only provoked him further.

Suddenly, as though a switch had been flipped, she was done with the teasing and the foreplay. She needed him. "Charles." She whispered as she reached down to pull him up to her as she had before, but he was beyond her reach. Elsie tried to sit up, but her balance was affected by the fact that one of her legs was currently hooked over his shoulder. The hand of that arm was pressed into the small of her back, half lifting her off the mattress.

"Charles. I need you," she called to him again. "Charles?"

"Just wait, love." He spoke into her thigh. She tried to ignore the ticklish sensation of his lips on the inside of her one thigh as his fingers tickled her other. Her understanding of his goal dawned a split second before he reached it.

"Wait! Charles…" but it was too late to stop him as delicious spikes of electricity shocked through her, throwing her back onto the mattress. All of her control from mere moments before was gone. The control was his, her body was his. He tasted her tenderly, while he touched her firmly. She gradually became accustomed to the vibrations he was triggering in her body.

"You…mmm…are…going…to…mmm…PAY…ahh…for…this…!" She breathed out raggedly. His ministrations continued to grow in speed and intensity, until finally, what felt like a life time later, something released in her. "CHARLES!"

He crawled up to lay beside her, looking very pleased with himself. His days in the theatre had finally paid off. He'd tried to be a gentleman and not listen in on the girls' gossip sessions, but some of their conversations had been impossible to ignore. There had been few things that the ladies of the theatre agreed upon, but each had a very strong opinion on how a man could best satisfy a woman. There were several options, but this one had fascinated him the most. Charles had been too timid to attempt it right off the bat, but Elsie's new boldness had inspired him. He was very pleased with the result, mainly because his wife seemed most pleased.

"As soon as I can move again, you are going to pay for that, my man." She warned him in an exhausted breath.

He rolled towards the food cart and retrieved the second bottle of champagne, which he opened with practiced ease. "Pay for it, or be rewarded for it?" He sipped arrogantly directly from the bottle.

"A bit of both."

"Champagne?" He offered. He slipped his arm underneath her and held the champagne to her lips as though he were nursing her back to health.

"My, aren't you the cocky one?"

"I like to think so," he chuckled. "I'd like you to think so too."

"But how am I to judge?" She asked with a doe-eyed innocence that was betrayed by her hand playing with the waistband of his shorts.

"I'm sure you'll think of something." He placed the champagne back in the ice and turned back to her embrace.

"I already have." She pushed herself back up astride him. "In fact I had been thinking of it for some time, but then I believe we were interrupted."

Charles raised his eyebrows at the accusation. "Not that the interruption was not appreciated, Charles," she assured him. "It's only that I was not done with you."

"And it is my fervent wish that you never will be."

"Now," she drummed her fingers idly across his chest. "Where were we…?"

TBC…

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**AN/ Sorry for the delay in updating and I apologize for leaving it there, but writing the bedroom stuff is causing me all kinds of writers block. Let's just assume they are having a romping good time and leave it at that for now. We'll have to check in with the rest of the world tomorrow, with, perhaps, a quick peak back at our lovers.**

**If you want to fill the 'M'ness void in your Chelsie life, I suggest you read Highclere Award winning stories from MonaLove; who won an award for 'K' rating as well as 'M'. That is range!**

**Congrats to our other winning Chelsie writers (though not all for Chelsie stories- and I know I'll forget someone, please forgive me); ChelsieFan! GeordieLass! Kouw! Evitamockingbird! LavenderAndHay! And More To Come, I am sure!**


	56. Chapter 56

**AN/ In the interest of posting quickly, I have not proofread this chapter very much, please ignore the typos.**

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The moon was fully risen and shining through the window when Elsie next opened her eyes. Charles was snoring lightly beside her, having turned over onto his stomach. She wondered how his tiny bed at Downton contained him because he was currently sprawled out, using every corner of the large four poster bed. The air felt cool compared to the previous warmth of the day to which they had added their own passionate heat. She stood up from the bed and grabbed the nearest bit of clothing, the top from his pajamas. Swimming in the cool silk, she padded to the bathroom without waking him.

The sound of water must have woken him, for when she returned, he was laying on his back and smiling at her. He must have felt the chill as well, for he had pulled the sheet up to his waist. "That looks much better on you than it did on me." He commented as she walked through a pool of moonlight.

"I'd say you should try my chemise, but I'm not even sure it would fit over your head." She laughed as she climbed under the sheet nuzzling naturally into his side.

"The world will never know." He chuckled sleepily.

"I'm sorry I woke you." She yawned as she burrowed even closer to him draping her arm across him.

"You didn't wake me."

"No? Do you always snore when you're awake?"

He hurumphed his answer, provoking a secret smile from his wife. "Charles, I can tolerate it if it's only while you are sleeping, but I must draw the line on snoring while you are awake."

"I was dozing." He claimed defensively. After a few moments, he sighed a great contented sigh. "I could stay like this forever, I think."

"As could I, with the one impediment being that we must leave tomorrow."

"Where are we going?"

"I don't know. We should probably decide."

"I thought you and Lady Mary had planned everything."

"We only planned that you and I would not be missed until Wednesday. She left the details to me and I wanted to speak to you."

"Did you have any ideas?"

"I did consider the Science Museum, or the Crystal Palace or Madam Tussauds." She counted off each of his ludicrous ideas with a poke to his belly.

"You are never going to let me live that down, are you?" He accepted the ribbing good naturedly.

"Never." She lessened the sting with a kiss to his shoulder.

"You've already eliminated Brighton," he observed. "Do you have any other postcards?"

"Not with me."

"We could visit your sister and stopover in Blackpool." He offered, though he did not relish spending so much time traveling.

"Thank you for offering, love, but I don't want to waste two full days on a train. We shall see my sister soon enough. I think we should stick closer to London."

"I agree. Is Winchester too far, do you think?" He rolled to his side and she turned to face the same way, so that her body mimicked his. She fit perfectly into the space immediately in front of him.

"What is in Winchester?" She asked, pulling his arm that lay over her closer to her.

"Jane Austen. I know how much you like her. She's buried there and it's very near Chawton, where she did much of her writing. The countryside is lovely. If you've never been to old Wessex, it might be a treat."

"I am not sure that visiting an author's grave strikes me as a very romantic way to spend a honeymoon. What would Beryl say?"

"She would say, 'Who is Jane Austen?' or 'Why would anyone give a twig where she wrote some silly books?'"

"That is unkind, Charles. True, but unkind." They both thought in silence. She thought he might have slipped back to sleep, but then an idea struck her. "Somewhere on the Thames, perhaps? A hotel with a view of the river?"

"Hmm. That is an excellent notion and I know just the place." Charles said excitedly.

"And are you going to share this information with me?"

"No. I want it to be a surprise. I shall handle everything."

"Are you certain, love?" She tried to sound more supportive than nervous.

"Don't you trust me?"

Elsie paused imperceptibly before saying, "Charles, I love you."

"But…"

"And I trust you to do what you _think_ is right."

"But…"

"But, do you remember when I observed you must have been a very singular young man?"

"Yes."

"Well, you are still a very singular man."

"Very diplomatically put, love, but you needn't fear. This place is perfect. Though it is my second choice for a view of the Thames."

"Your second choice?"

"I'm pretty sure the Tower of London does not have a bridal suite, but I hear the views are excellent."

Laughing, she turned in his arms and faced him in the blue tinted night. "Where ever we go, I shall enjoy the view, Charles."

"As will I." He smiled, bringing a hand up to unbutton the two buttons she had fastened. Reaching inside the silk, his fingers brushed across her breast. When she flinched slightly at his touch, he looked concerned. "Does it hurt?"

"Does what hurt?" What he had interpreted as a flinch of pain had been a shudder of pleasure.

"Your…" Even in the darkness he could barely broach the subject with her. "Where the doctor…"

Finally understanding him, she pushed up on her elbow and looked down at his earnest face. "It's a scar, it doesn't feel anything at all, Charles. Is it very noticeable?" She worried.

"No. I can feel it more than I can see it. I was just worried that I might have hurt you."

"Well you didn't. Was that all that was bothering you?" She caressed his scruffy chin.

"Yes. I suppose," he admitted slowly. "Except."

"Are you still hurt that I didn't tell you?"

"No. I understand why. I honestly do. It isn't that. It's just…"

She could see he was struggling to find the right words. Frustratingly, she could not help him. All she could do was wait patiently.

"As wonderful as knowing you like this has been, Elsie, you mean more to me than just…carnal pleasure. Not that there's anything wrong with pleasure, but it isn't what matters. Not at the heart of things."

Elsie relaxed at his words. His serious tone had concerned her. "I know that, Charles. We love each other; this is just one expression of that love. But it is an expression we've not been able to share before now." She kissed his forehead tenderly. "And now we have the rest of our lives to express our love however we wish."

"Yes, but that's not what I'm trying to say." His brow knit as he tried to think of how he could make her understand him. "I'm not saying it right. This past week has been a whirlwind of new experiences and sharing newly expressed, though long held emotions. I know we were both afraid and until today, we still held back, still doubted that this would ever happen.

"We've been separated before, but at the clinic, I was half mad for missing you. I thought something might happen to keep us apart. Part of me actually worried that I might never see you again, that I might never be able to tell you exactly how I feel."

"Well, you've told me now," she soothed. "And you've shown me." She leaned down to kiss his lips, but he stopped her, holding her back from him by her two shoulders.

"But I haven't, Elsie. I haven't told you." He sat up and took her hands in his. His voice sounded nearly desperate. "All joking and teasing aside, I need you to understand how much you have enriched my life. As much as I am looking forward to our life together from now on, I need you to understand how much I cherish the life we've already had together.

"Without you, I would just be a man who fulfilled the obligations of his occupation. I would have been loyal to the Crawleys and they to me, but always with that barrier between employer and employee, no matter how much I might fool myself.

"I could have had all the success in the world, but without you, it would have had no purpose. You gave my life meaning. You gave me someone to make proud, someone with whom I could share the miniscule victories or the minor defeats of my life.

"The difference between my life before you and after you is like the difference between holding a tin type portrait of a woman and holding a woman of flesh and blood." Elsie could not help but think he was referring to the photo of Alice she had framed for him.

He touched her breast again, tenderly. "This scar reminds me of just one of the thousand times that I should have told you that. It reminds me of how lucky I have been that you did not leave me, even though I never gave you any reason to stay."

"I am afraid I have to interrupt you there, love." Elsie said tearfully. "Despite your beautiful sentiments, you have made a few errors. Firstly, you are more than just an employee to Lady Mary. I may not have always appreciated or understood that, but it is true. Her support this past week is proof of that.

"Secondly, you have given me every reason to stay. I've had other offers, of jobs as well as of marriage; opportunities that would have taken me closer to my sister or paid better. But I never considered any of them beyond a moment of whimsical fantasy because, you have always treated me with more respect and deference than anyone in my life.

"I never felt fully valued until I earned my first compliment from you. I was highly competent and I knew my own worth, of course, but no one else seemed to recognize my true gifts before you. Employers said I was a hard worker, but they never saw beyond that. Even my family or Joe failed to see what you saw almost from the first moments we met. You saw that I loved my work, I loved order and I found joy in looking after people.

"Even before I was housekeeper, you asked my opinions and then you listened. You noticed the smallest details, not just about my job, but about me; silly things like how I like how I like to celebrate a balanced ledger by tapping my pen on my inkwell or that when we have eggs for breakfast, I like the heel of the bread for my toast. In short, you made me feel important and respected for myself. How could I ever leave that?"

She cupped his face in her hands. "You are my dearest friend, Charles, and you have been for over twenty years. You made me feel like someone was looking after me and I enjoyed looking after you. All that time, you have been a vessel into which I could pour all of my love, knowing it would be kept safe and protected. I would not trade the last twenty two years for all the whiskey in Scotland."

"But all the times I scolded you for sentimentality?"

"I knew you were afraid of appearing to favor me improperly. Your mask never fooled me, Charles Carson. You are not a very good actor."

"Not when the audience is as intelligent as you." He drew her to him and kissed her firmly. "But I still should have told you. You deserved to know."

"That's exactly my point, Charles. I _did_ know. I didn't know that you would want to marry me, but I did know that you loved me. And I knew I could never love anyone else nor bear being apart from you. So I stayed, and I have been happy. I am happier now that we can actually speak the words, but the sentiment has always been there, if I let myself look."

He drew back and looked deep into her eyes. After a few moments, he smiled, convinced that she was telling him the truth, not just what she thought he wanted to hear.

Banishing all thoughts of regrets, he lay back down and spooned beside her half naked body.

"Do you remember your first week at Downton?"

She could not help but laugh at the memory. "Like it was yesterday."

TBC…

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**AN/ But we'll hear about it tomorrow…**

**The consensus seemed to be MORE CHELSIE, even if it takes longer (that's what she said). I did not mean to imply last time that I was not happy with the results in a pathetic (albeit successful) attempt to elicit praise. I meant that I usually 'compose' my stories in my head while I'm driving around on errands or doing mindless repetitive stuff at work (though not all of my work falls under that category). I get most of my typing done on my work breaks and at hockey practices. I can't write the 'M' stuff there for fear of someone looking over my shoulder, so it throws off the whole writing process and takes longer. I know that is TMI, but there it is.**


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